


Ghost Of A Good Thing

by sxgaro



Category: EXO (Band), SEVENTEEN (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Also this is the American 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1920s, And I am not finding out, And he's also a major cheater, Angst, Bootleggers, Closeted Character(s), F/M, Gun Violence, Guns, Historical Inaccuracy, I mean sort of minor ????, Illegal Activities, Like it's not the most accurate thing, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Character Death, Not Korean because I know nothing about how it was in Korea back then, Rich Min Yoongi | Suga, Side Relationships - Freeform, Side Stories, Smut, Sort Of, This is honestly basically a seventeen fanfic based around Yoonmin, This took me months to write because I kept putting it off like an idiot, Yikes, Yoongi is married btw, at all, brothel, lots of em - Freeform, poor park jimin, side characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:48:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxgaro/pseuds/sxgaro
Summary: When Min Yoongi, a rich married man, meets Park Jimin in a place he'd never find himself in, a sort of infatuation sparks between the both of them and Jimin finds himself in a situation he can't get out of (not that he'd ever want to).-Please read my notes for important info thanks !!





	Ghost Of A Good Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [therealbella123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealbella123/gifts).



> Okay, so,,,, this took me months to write, I just couldn't find the energy to finish it, mostly because I was scared it just wasn't all that great or I'd disappoint people with it because my god. But I made a promise to my friend that she would get this fucking story and so here it is. I forced myself to finish it. I don't think it's my best work, but it's here. And if others like it, then ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ But yeah anyways, I feel like it's inaccurate. I did research UP THE ASS for this story, but I'm still on edge about it. So just know if anything is inaccurate (other than the fact that this is the American 1920s and not Korean 1920s lmao) those inaccuracies will not be changed. I am not working on this hell sent story any longer. I am so over it lmao.

“You better hurry with those cans, boy. They ain’t gonna stack themselves, you know.” there were heavy footsteps from behind, making their way over and then another box of soup cans piled next to the others. Jimin glanced down, eyes casting frustratingly against the extra cardboard carriers, causing a newfound distress within his brain. He sighed, stacking the last of what was left in the first box.

“Yea, Pops, I know.” was his reply, and he tugged the hem of his white button up. It slipped out from inside his slacks, un-popping one of the braces that held them up, when he wiped eagerly at the sweat that had built up above his thick lips and damp forehead. 

His grandfather rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re grumbling about. You should be thankful you even work for me.” he said, attitude found thick against his tongue.

Jimin proceeded to stack the cans on the shelf before him, moments after he had snapped the brace back in place over his pants. His shirt, that had once been white, was now a dull gray, along with splotches of dirt and sweat stains and loose threads. The shirt was absolute trash, merely replaceable, rather than fixable. Bleach wasn’t even an option, though he didn’t care. It wasn’t exactly a choice for him, either way. He could only afford what his grandfather decided to pay him, which was by the hour, and also how much work he’d done in that hour. And Jimin isn’t keen on working, exactly. But typically, if it’s a good day, he will earn about 25 cents an hour, although that’s when his Pops is feeling quite generous. 

“’You know, at your age, I was working for a factory.” his grandfather started up again, engine in his throat roaring obnoxiously. “Know how much I earned?” Jimin rolled his eyes. He leaned down for another can.

“Nada.” the boy answered, slamming it down. “You’ve told me, Pops. About a gazillion times.”

“That’s right,” his grandfather began, slender finger pointing to the air behind Jimin. “And I’ll tell you a gazillion times more. You ought to get that through your thick skull, boy. You ought to learn your place.”

Jimin didn’t reply this time because he knew how it’d go. Arguing gets him nowhere but another story about how his life is far more privileged than his Pops’ was, which is pretty much completely true, but hearing it every day could get to your head. He stacked another can and looked at the clock above the dairy section. It would be five more minutes until his lunch break. He thanked his lucky stars and rolled up his sleeves. It took almost the entirety of the time he had left to stack the rest of what was in the second box and sweat was a well-known guest on his damp flesh. He took off his hat and pushed back the thick strands of his wetted hair, pushing over the last box.

His Chuck Taylors scuffed against the floor as he walked to the back, tin lunch carrier in one hand and his Ben Hogan hat in the other. It was similar to that of the bottom of his shoes; musky and stain ridden. He had not much care for the items he owned, they hadn’t cost much anyways. Either that, or they were gifts. And, really, gifts weren’t all that important, either. Unless they were from his grandmother or handmade. 

He swiped the back of his hand onto his forehead and slipped the hat back on, matting the blonde hair to his scalp. His hair was sort of damp. It had sucked up all the sweat he had produced in the muggy building that his grandfather owned, due to having to stack in the hottest place in the market, which was to the back of the building, in the far corner. It was much cooler nearing the front, where the doors were approached. Jimin had always wished he worked at the register, which was the closest to those doors. He hated working up a sweat just for a good $2.25 by the end of the day. But who was he yanking? He most definitely couldn’t find a decent job anywhere else at his age. Everyone saw him as some hoodlum. Plus, he needed a place to stay and his grandparents were the only ones that would take him in. And rather than paying to stay out of his own dry pocket, he helped around his grandpop’s store.

Jimin found the back door to the building and he sat quietly, opening the tin box and unwrapping the sandwich his grandmother compiled, which consisted of one slice of tomato and a thin, almost translucent, spread of mayo. His teeth sunk in and his Converse scraped the pavement as he sat. He listened to the trees and the birds and the leaves that played delicately with the wind, as he allowed the mixed taste settle on his tongue, eyelashes flickering against the pigmented sky. He heard jazz playing somewhere far off, possibly somebody’s party, or through an open window. He saw a man of poverty across the street pull a bottle from his sock and Jimin snorted as the man took a swig. He’d always wondered where people got the alcohol from, and how they never got caught, especially when they drink it in plain sight. He had also always wondered how it would feel wrapped around his tongue, though is Pops told him it stung and that it was no good. But he feels that he only wants him out of trouble, which he understands.

Jimin took another bite as he saw a stray dog with tousled blonde hair and scrawny legs walk alongside the open road and he heard the engine of a car pull up at the front. He quickly took the last remaining bites of his tomato sandwich, knowing there would be business, and knowing his grandfather would be calling him in at any given moment, and got up from the ground. He wiped the crumbs from his trousers and fixed his hat, before opening up where the back entrance leads.

“I’m comin’!” Jimin had shouted, through the open door, before his Pops had the chance to ask for his assistance. 

He made a settlement on an empty shelf for his lunch carrier and wiped his hands on his tinted slacks, before he decided to fix his cap again, just for good measure. His fingernails were rimmed almost black and the skin underneath them were a bruised yellow, with blotches of purple and blue, and hints of green.

His grandfather scoffed at him as he passed. “You can’t be scaring customers looking like that.”

Jimin had no reply, and even if he did, he probably wouldn’t allow it to find oxygen anyhow. He had no other choice but to ignore the retorts his grandfather had. He just wiped the clammy palms his hands had on his slacks again and wiped at his thick-of-sweat forehead, before he went to stacking cans. That’s when the bell above the door rang. 

The first thing Jimin saw was a woman appareled in a loose fitting dress, all black with tassels at the hems, where you could see only her pasty ankles. Her buckled heels clicked quietly against the tile. Her fingers were wrapped around a pair of spiral sunglasses and she allowed them to slip away from the bridge of her nose. It all seemed sort of like a Hollywood film, sun splayed behind her like a warm blanket on the sand, as her eyes shone from behind the tinted windows of her sunnies. Her red lips smiled when she turned around. That’s when Jimin saw him. A man with a suit hugging his nicely built torso. Jimin’s heart began to climb up his throat and he quickly turned back to the soup cans. This has happened before, boys causing heated cheeks and rosy flesh with dusted reds and pinks on soft skin. He pursed his lips into a thin line and furrowed his brows. Possibly just hormones and all that. Jimin began stacking again. 

“I was thinking an apple pie.” the woman’s words sounded of silk as they slipped past her tongue so nicely, like soft ocean waves on Saturday nights, when the air was cool and the sand was bliss. Jimin didn’t dare look up when he heard her heels click again. “Or cherry. Either would be just _darb_.” she fixed her pinned black hair and continued walking. 

The man followed closely behind her, bony hand splayed gently on her dipped back. He had a vest on, a black vest, with a short tie beneath it, a slight contrast to the creamy white button up he was adorned in. He was just as pale as the woman was, maybe even paler. The woman looked around with a smile playing her crimson lips. She fixed her hair again. It was long, you could tell, but the back was pinned into a small bun at the nape of her neck. 

“Say, Yoongi, should I cut my hair?” she began fluffing it at the sides and it bounced. Jimin watched and he could tell her hair was probably curly, or maybe she just used a lot of softener.

He looked at her with a small, tucked smile. “Whatever you’d like, dear.” his eyes glanced around elsewhere, hers on his.

“You’re so good to me, Yoon.” she squeezed at his hand, before tugging at her purse and allowing it to sit high up on her revealed shoulder, careful not to disrupt her shawl. It danced around her neck in a sea of translucent black. She was looking around the market again. “I think we’ll do apple pie. Mrs. Manoban should be keen on that, yeah?”

Jimin was in a deep struggle not to eavesdrop, but curiosity got the best of him. He proceeded to stack the leftover cans in the box and wiped his hands steadily on his trousers once more. He watched the presumed couple walk alongside the fruit section. Her pallid fingers grazed over still red apples and her honey eyes cast over to Yoongi with a look of distaste. 

“Oh, futz,” she began, eyes sad and dreary, drained of their hazelnut spread colour, and replaced with a bland brown. “I completely forgot, Mrs. Kim _hates_ apple pie.”

Yoongi sighed. “Let’s just do cherry then, Rosie.” he began, and his almond eyes found Jimin’s for only a moments passing, before he looked away. “But we’ve gotta scram quick. Hope’s waiting.”

She winked at him and he snorted. Jimin watched them gather all their needed stuff quick and he presumed maybe they were throwing a party. It seemed so, what with all the ingredients for the cherry pie and potato chips and pop. Jimin found a jealousy growing in his stomach. He wished he had a love he could throw parties with, somebody who would get dolled up just for him. He hated the idea of being 19 and still without a girl. Heck, the majority of his friends already had girls of their own. Why didn’t he fit in the rest of the pack? 

Jimin’s grandfather rang up the couple with a small smile and Jimin watched from afar the way Yoongi’s hand slipped in his own back pocket and how his thumb toyed with the button on it, with no care, and how his hair was pushed back so his forehead was prominent on his face. Jimin admired his button nose and plump lips and sort of chubby cheeks and childlike grin, and how the man’s feet were slipped into a pair of wing tipped Oxfords, black and off white, fingers slipped through thick rings, one of which was most definitely for marriage. Jimin grabbed a washcloth from one of the shelves and wiped his sweat slick face with it, his eyes still on Yoongi. That was until Yoongi turned his head and searched Jimin’s dilated pupils. He looked down with a cough in his throat. Yoongi’s eyes remained. 

Then Rose was running slender fingers along her presumed husband’s back and his attention got locked with hers, reality washing over him and pulling him back to sea. He hummed when she smiled up at him. “Hope knows, right?” she asked and Yoongi placed a finger over his own lips. She nodded and her lips played a giddy expression, long before she clapped her hands together.

“$40.45.” Jimin’s grandfather provided and Yoongi’s fingers slipped out of his back pocket, this time with a thick leather wallet placed in between them in a gingerly act. Jimin watched him open it up and slide over a fifty.

“You can keep the extra clams, my friend.” Yoongi said with a wink, and Pops smiled, giving him a slight nod. 

He then turned to his grandson, smirk still plastered heavily. “Make yourself useful, Jimin, and help these two with their groceries.”

Jimin offered a cautious smile and he wiped his hands on the fronts of his trousers for the umpteenth time this morning and made his way towards the two. He picked up two brown bags and held their bottoms so nothing would spill out and followed Yoongi and Rose to their car. They opened up the chest and allowed him to set the bags down. The sun beat down on his back and Jimin could smell the cologne Yoongi was wearing. It was prominent against the wind. Rose smiled and closed the trunk. 

“Why, thank you, young bird.” she said with a small wink. “I’ll be in the car, Yoongi. Make sure you tip this little thing.” Jimin heard her heels click finely against the pavement as she walked. The car door opened and she slipped in the passenger seat, checking herself in the small handheld mirror she kept safely within her pouch of a purse, fixing her lipstick. 

Yoongi turned to him, thick wallet back within his calloused fingers and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. Jimin beamed at it, eyes so wide. He almost coughed at how much money was being offered to him. Any extra money would be magnificent, especially a twenty, but, “I’m sorry, sir, I honestly can’t accept this.” he said, and his fingers were resting on his Ben Hogan. He could feel his wetted hair press up against it uncomfortably. 

And Yoongi scoffed. Jimin could see sweat of his own building on his flesh, as well. Probably from the heat hitting the both of them so harshly. He looked at the younger boy. “It’s the least I can do.” he said and he nodded towards the bill in his hand. “Take it.”

But Jimin shook his head again. “I’m real sorry, Yoongi sir, but I can’t.” he insisted and he almost felt like a child. Yoongi couldn’t be that much older than him, right? He didn’t look it, at least. 

Yoongi then nodded his head, neck cocking a bit to the side. Jimin watched the chestnut in his eyes catch the sun as he looked Jimin up and down with a curious look. “Alright,” he said. “How old are you then?”

Jimin’s eyebrows knitted slightly together as he watched a strand of the man’s ebony hair fall into his face. He wanted to reach out and feel it. “I’m nineteen, why do you ask?” he replied and he could feel his pits sweating beneath his button up. He grabbed ahold of the braces strapped to his slacks when Yoongi opened his mouth again. 

“I have another way to repay you,” he said with a slight smile and Jimin became further more confused. He was about to ask when Yoongi patted his shoulder and reached into his own pocket. “Come to my party tonight. Bring friends.” 

He handed Jimin a card slip with the name Min Yoongi and an address printed below it. He gingerly received it into his palm and watched it as if it were to sprout legs and prance from his sight. Yoongi then leaned close to Jimin’s ear, having to bend his back forward only the slightest to find his height, and cleared his throat. 

“You can keep a secret, right?” Yoongi asked, and Jimin was nodding, having to swallow the large lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Yoongi leaned back again with another quick smile. “Good,” he said, and he patted Jimin on the shoulder again for good measure. “See you tonight.”

Then he was joining his wife in their car.

*

“What about Wendy?” Taehyung asked, holding a glass Coca Cola bottle. It stuck to his calloused fingertips, sweating into his palms. He was taking an eager sip and his lips wrapped and sort of uncoiled around it, while the others watched his throat bob against the beverage. 

Jimin’s nose scrunched a little, mimicking that of a rabbit sniffing through tall grass on summer evenings. “Wendy?” he asked. “The blonde one?” and his fingers scratched at the back of his neck. He looked at Jungkook, who shrugged.

Taehyung followed Jimin’s actions and his eyebrows raised, arms thrown to the sky in defense. “She’s fit, alright?” 

And Jungkook rolled his eyes and they were of a royal colour beneath the sun. They always reminded Jimin of the sky just before a sunset, light golden and dark at once, subtle stars in between. He admitted to only himself that he admired the way his eyes looked under the moon when he’d spend nights at Jungkook’s house.

Jungkook looked between Jimin and Taehyung, before he looked down again, as before, chin leaning on crossed elbows, knees pulled up against his jaw, a saddened expression sort of melting against his face. The bottom hems of his slacks revealed his calf-high socks and his toes were sheltered by a pair of black Oxfords, white scuffs prominent at the tips.

Taehyung took another sip and Jimin looked at Jungkook before he patted his shoulder, staring at the sky in the slightest haze. His eyes squinted against the harsh light. He had been off from work for a few hours, thinking longingly about the party he was going to attend, and also thinking about how he was to gently approach the question to his friends about them joining him. 

Taehyung looked at Jungkook, who sighed. “She’s alright.” he replied in a mutter and Taehyung’s eyebrows raised against his forehead in a surprised manner. He nudged him, causing the boy to fall backwards a bit, his bottom hitting harshly against the pavement. 

“What do you _mean_ , she’s alright?” he asked with a snort. “Have you seen her bubs? They’re like two giant cantaloupes!” 

And Jungkook grimaced, pulling himself back to where he sat on the sidewalk, against the building of the market. His brown eyes casted down again, sad and dreary and doughy against the sun. Jimin nudged Taehyung with a harsh push to the shoulder and his face said most of what he was thinking. Taehyung’s drink fell from his hand, shattering to the concrete below.

“Hey!” he yelled, a whiny lilt thick in his voice. “You ought to buy me a new coke, you double-crosser! Not cool!”

Jimin snorted, kicking over the glass that had formed beneath them, before he looked around. “Hey, you seen Joon anywhere?” he suddenly asked. “He promised he’d be here.”

Jungkook looked up, chin still resting delicately against his arm, before he shook his head and fixed his hat. His hair was also a matted mess, thin strands fighting to reach the sky, others clinging to his forehead, gathering beads of sweat. There was an utterance caught in Jimin’s throat and he let out a sigh of distaste as the feeling settled on his tongue. He wiped at his button up and looked back to his friends.

“Well, I had a proposition for you guys.” Jimin said and he sat next to where Jungkook was, whose eyes scanned the shorter of the two’s face. 

Taehyung raised his brows. “Does this proposition give me anything in return, or is it for your own stupid benefit?” his shoes scuffed a bit as he tried to get comfortable and the sun still hit his back with harsh rays. Jimin shrugged then looked back to Jungkook, whose irises shown through thick lashes. 

“Gives you something to do.” he stated simply and Taehyung sighed. 

They sort of stared for a moment’s passing, and Jimin listened to the trees that sat nearby. He could hear dogs barking in the distance and the obnoxious sound of engines snarling in the streets. He tried to match the sound with a scenery, but came to no avail as he saw an empty street before him. A breeze hit his face for a second as he looked, blonde hair pushing with it, and the sun caught his stare.

Taehyung looked at him, eyebrows raised and arms thrown up again, an impatient expression spreading over him. “Well, spit it out, Park, we don’t got all day.” 

Jimin blinked and he tried to think about what they were even talking about. He then pulled out the small card he’d received earlier that day from his pocket. “I got invited to this party.” he began. “Some guy named Yoongi who came into the market earlier.” he looked between the two for some sort of reassurance, sort of biting anxiously at his lip. He handed the card over to Taehyung, who inspected it with hazardous actions and there was a sliver of hope that he would say yes, really because he’s sort of stubborn, and Jimin seriously didn’t want to go alone. Plus, if Taehyung went, Jungkook would surely go. He’s got some sort of fixation on the boy and Jimin is the only one who’s seemed to take notice.

Taehyung bit at the inside of his cheek and watched Jimin’s pleading eyes. “Why you yankin’ at _us_ to go?” he asked and Jimin sighed.

“You really think I wanna go to some party alone?” he peeped over at Jungkook, whose eyes were big and bold, then looked away. He thought about Yoongi and how he had only met the man for the slightest of seconds. He also tried to think of reasons as to why he should even go in the first place, but he can never think of any when it all comes down to it. Unless you count the possible infatuation Jimin has already become of for this man. He shakes his head a little and stares back at his friend. 

“ _Please, Taehyung_.” he said, fingers forming together to make a fist under his chin. “I never ask anything of you.”

And then Taehyung was looking at Jungkook, who shrugged and looked away. He saw that glint in Jimin’s eyes that he only sees when Jimin is at the edge of desperation. He wanted to question why this party was so important to him, but let’s be honest, Jimin doesn’t even know why it’s so important to him, so what’s the point in asking in the first place? Taehyung pinches the space between his brows, just at the beginning of the bridge of his nose, for a slight moment, before he gives out a sigh against the humid air before them. He nods once and says a subtle, “ _Fine_.” before rolling his eyes. Jimin exhales with a sigh of relief, a smile plastered to his face so suddenly, and Taehyung holds up a finger. “But it’s still sounding like a whole bunch of baloney to me.” 

*

Jimin gripped at the tie around his neck, tightening it around his jugular with a quick flick, and he stares gingerly at the mirror before him. His grandmother smiles modestly behind him and she’s holding a tweed jacket the colour of warm honey between her skinny fingers. It matches the slacks she gave him that once belonged to his Pops when _he_ was 19. She grins at him.

“Oh, boy, you look so dashing.” she says and she pops one of the braces snapped to his pants. “Every honey at that dance is gonna wish they was gettin’ dolled up just for you.”

He gives her a humble grin, ducking his head a bit as she spoke, cheeks becoming dusted with the lightest of roses, like watercolour pink on a thick canvas board, trying to hide the small lie he told her about going to a dance rather than a party deep in his actions. His hands slip into the front pockets of his trousers. 

His grandmom eventually hands him the jacket and he allows his arms to slip through the sleeves in one nimble movement, and her eyes beam like they’re clinging to every bit of hope. His fingers feel the fabric, rough edges and stitching against his naked wrists. She hands him his own Hogan hats and fixes his tie, before she taps his shoulder with the palm of her hand. 

“Now, you better get going.” she says with a toothless grin, body swimming in her silk jammies, lace edges dancing around her calves as if she were doing a handstand underwater. 

And Jimin smiles back, plucking at loose strings and slipping on his Chucks by the front door. Taehyung and Jungkook were already waiting outside beneath the pale moon, hands in their pockets. They had all agreed that they use Taehyung’s bike to get to their destination, for only Taehyung had the privilege to be lucky enough to get his hands on one, Jimin sitting on the handles, and Jungkook behind Taehyung, back facing back, eyes casted to what was behind them. They hopped on and Taehyung began the peddle.

*

Jimin had started to doubt that they were travelling the right way. He had noticed- _really noticed_ -the sizing of homes only getting larger as they made way, causing a feeling of uncomfort to settle in his gut, making his throat feel dry. Jimin wasn’t rich, Jimin had never been rich in his life. He never had the luxury of even seeing more than $80 at any point of his life. And as he looked down at his ratted Chuck’s, he had started to regret this stupid idea. 

Taehyung came to an abrupt halt and Jimin turned around, craning his neck to look at him. Taehyung shrugged and peered at the house before them three, making Jimin’s stomach settle so uneasily. 

“This is the address you showed me.” he said and Jimin was hopping off the front, feeling so suddenly small, eyes wide and bright against the lights that flashed before him. His toes vibrated, sensations from the ground crawling up his legs at the blasting sound of horns and jazz radiating through the vacant area. He looked behind him, finding Taehyung pushing his bike against a tree. Jungkook was staring in awe, lips slightly ajar, working on their own accord.

Jimin began walking in, eyes meeting with a hoard of people, men and women dressed in assorted expensive attires, drinks in hands, pipes between lips, unfamiliar faces hanging onto each other like monkeys to branches. He slipped his hat off and pressed it to his chest, crinkling the shirt underneath. His eyes could not form around how massive this man’s home was, chandeliers hanging in all their glory from the ceiling, which was high above him, tall and gargantuan. 

Then a man approached him. He had a reddish suit on, tight around his broad shoulders, cigar hanging from his plump lips with brown hair that met at his eyebrows in a middle part. Jimin blinked up at him, only looking down once to meet with the man’s bare chest being revealed behind his white button up opened at the top. 

“Care for a drink?” he asked with a smile, dimples forming just above his lips at the corners. Jimin opened his mouth as to speak but couldn’t find the words. He turned around to his friends for some sort of aid, only to find that they were gone. 

_Rats!_ , Jimin thought to himself. He turned around again.

“Now, Hope, are you bothering this young man?” Jimin’s eyes fixed next to the guy, whose name was now presumed _Hope_ , and saw the only person that had been familiar so far. _Yoongi_.

Hope turned his head and offered another smile, pulling the cigar from his mouth and settling it between his fingers, eyes scanning Yoongi’s face, who sipped gracefully from a glass. Jimin’s pupils broadened, dilating only the littlest bit at the sight of what was in his glass, wondering if it was what he thought it was, _what he thought it looked like_. He closed his mouth when he realized it was opening in surprise, gaping like a blubbering fish. 

“Suga, sir, I was just offering this boy a good glass of our finest giggle water, that’s all.” Hope replied, smile still found spread across his face, causing his plump cheeks to become a bright pink against his tannish skin. Yoongi, _or Suga_ , laughed, a deep chuckle that sounded straight from his throat, so guttural. Jimin swallowed, looking between the two men.

“Jimin doesn’t do that stuff.” Yoongi began slowly. “Do you?” Yoongi was turning his head, this time directed towards the 19 year old, whose mouth opened again. He began blinking when he shut his mouth and quickly shook his head, pressing his hat into his chest further and squeezing it beneath his hold. Yoongi hummed for a moment. “It is Jimin, correct?”

Jimin was about to open his mouth, but decided against it, as it would be to no avail, and nodded, instead, gripping tighter. He could hear the scrunching of cheap cloth. Yoongi handed Hope his small glass and tapped his shoulder. “Go find Jin.” he said and Hope nodded his head, sending him a wink, and tucking the cigar back between his lips, before he headed towards a large water fountain that was sat between two gargantuan staircases. Jimin looked off, wondering as to where they had lead to. 

Yoongi gripped Jimin by the shoulder, squeezing much harder than Jimin had anticipated and peered at him in wonder. Yoongi didn’t say anything for the first few seconds, basking in the jazz that was playing in the far distance, yet radiating throughout his entire home. Jimin watched with curiosity, squirming slightly beneath his harsh grasp, before he decided to stare ahead to where they were going, which was towards his staircase, leading them up to the end of a hall. There seemed to be what looked like a terrace, doors spread wide to show what the night had to offer, stars and pale moonlight dripping from the sky in glowing orbs. Yoongi let go once they made it outside onto the balcony type patio and looked over to Jimin, who felt far too small to even be here. 

“No friends, I see?” Yoongi spoke, pursing his lips for only a moment, before he was leaning against the decorative balustrade that lined the terrace, back of his head facing the younger the entire time. Jimin stopped to press his hat back onto his head, where it matted his hair, before he approached Yoongi in slow steps. 

“Um,” he began and shook his head, leaning against the railing, awkwardly placing the palms of his hands against the thick concrete. “Actually, yes. Don’t know where they are, though.” 

Yoongi turned his head and hummed. He looked back to the moon for only a second, before he was pulling a small metal box, thin and wide in his fingertips. Jimin watched him open it, emitting the sound of clinking, before he was pulling out a fag. He offered one to Jimin, who shook his head, and watched as Yoongi lit his own. The time being was quiet, the only sounds of distant music and crickets singing in the darkness emitting before them. Jimin could, as well, hear the shuffling of clothing as Yoongi slipped the metal container back into one of his front pockets. He inhaled once before he leaned against the railing again.

“People chase things they can never get, Jimin.” Yoongi said and Jimin looked at him in question, head cocked and eyes wide before him, becoming brighter than any moon could. Yoongi sighed out through his nose and Jimin watched the smoke escape his nostrils like a smokey dragon. Yoongi was biting on the inside of his cheek, the left side. Jimin could see. “Always chasing the ghost of good things.” Yoongi muttered and then cleared his throat, flicking the cigarette, letting ashes fall over the balustrade and disappear. “Just speaking nonsense.” he added and then offered Jimin a tucked smile. 

Jimin smiled back, a faltered twitch of the lips. His hands felt around in his pocket with nervousness, thumb pressing against the fabric of his slacks, feeling the roughness it held, before Yoongi was clearing his throat again, catching Jimin’s eye. 

“So, Jimin, what brings you working at such a grubby old grocery store?” he asks softly, body twisted so that it faced the 19 year old, arm dangling over the concrete balcony, fingers flicking the fag every once in a while. Jimin looked at it for a second, before his eyes flickered to Yoongi’s, lips in a slight subconscious pout, resting plumply against his rounded face. 

“Oh, it’s my Pops’s, actually. I live with my grandparents.” he replied and Yoongi was nodding, looking back to the sky, one hand pushing back parted hair, so dark and shiny against the moonlight, bangs cutting short at his brows. 

“How much are they paying you?” he asks, eyes still casted to what was before him, night like an oil painting, so unreal, so beautiful. Jimin shrugged and messed with the hem of his tweed jacket, pulling at loose strings. 

“Depends,” he began and found himself shrugging again. “Good days, maybe twenty-five cents an hour?” he added and Yoongi sort of scoffed, trying hard not to offend the poor boy’s grandfather or the way he worked his business, but something in his stomach made him do so, anyways. Jimin stood straight, brows furrowing at the harsh response. He was about to ask why he wanted to know so badly, but Yoongi beat him to it, eyes looking back to the boy, hand pressing the cigarette into the concrete and putting it out. 

“How does ten dollars an hour sound?” he asked and Jimin just about choked, saliva feeling as though it was being swallowed down the wrong tube, head in a sudden daze. He pulled his hat off to fix his hair, before he was matting it down again. 

“I’m sorry, sir?” he asked in such disbelief, heart hammering so loudly at the proposition that was being stated to him. His mouth stayed agape.

Yoongi smiled and twitched the cigarette over the balcony, a deep and throaty chuckle crawling up his esophagus at what excitement Jimin was presenting. He scooted one side of his jacket out of the way so that he could push his hand into his right pocket. He cocked his head and looked at Jimin, whose eyes were wide. 

“There’s this- _what do you call_ -a sort of club, if you will. A friend of mine owns it.” Yoongi begins, going to pick at something in his teeth and Jimin’s ears remained perked at his words. “He could start you off as a waiter at ten dollars an hour. That is if you’re interested.” 

Jimin gaped again, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, hands glued tightly sore in front of him, fingers interlocking. He was blinking, drawing more heart-fluttering smiles from Yoongi, eyebrows finding his hairline in such an instant. He closed his mouth, only to speak, incredulity thick in his response. “But why me, sir? Why are you offering such a huge allowance to some nineteen year old you just met today?” 

And then Yoongi was laughing again, a sound Jimin found he couldn’t get used to, a sound that made his chest tighten and warm. He walked towards the teenager, bringing another hand into his left pocket, shoes seemingly expensive clicking against the concrete patio below them. He stopped when their shoes touched, making Jimin’s breath get caught into his throat. 

“Remember when I asked if you could keep a secret, Jimin?” Yoongi began and Jimin was nodding. Yoongi hummed and leaned forward, lips just a mere centimeter from Jimin’s ear, who was shot frozen in his place, heart feeling as though it had stopped. He could feel Yoongi’s breath, so hot and humid against his dry skin, escaping his mouth in huffs. Jimin swallowed down his anxiety. “You need to keep that word if you accept my offer and not worry about why I’m giving it to you. You’re valuable.” he said and Jimin only nodded again, slightly afraid of what he was letting himself get into. Something inside him, however, somehow trusted Yoongi. It was an odd feeling to have, but it was there and it was clear in his mind how he felt about said man. 

“Okay.” Jimin whispered out and Yoongi let out a satisfied noise, leaning back again, eyes looking Jimin over with a hazy expression. 

“I’ll stop by tomorrow to show you around.” Yoongi said and Jimin nodded, eyes peering widely beyond Yoongi’s, like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. There they were, those feelings he’d grown so familiar of, so shameful of. His stomach was a volcano, ready to combust before their very eyes. He thought for a moment he may throw up with nerve, but then Yoongi’s hand reached out to pull off a loose string from his shoulder, fingers dancing down his arm in delicacy and pressing against his flesh through the fabric, making the skin burn there, making Jimin’s mind escape elsewhere, distracting him of whatever feeling of uneasiness there was, making his heart feel okay. Things felt natural for a moment as he stared at Yoongi, skin burning so wildly beneath his touch, before the man pulled away and let the string fly away in the air. Jimin didn’t look away. 

 

“Loose string.” Yoongi muttered, yet Jimin wasn’t able to respond. His mind was throwing blanks at what words even were. He felt like he was floating and wondered for only the short second his mind let him, if this is what love at first sight felt like. It felt like what the films described it as. Clammy hands, wide eyes staring into his like some sort of wildfire between them, chest so tight and warm and beautiful, lips dry. He wanted Yoongi to make them damp again. He wondered if Yoongi felt the same.

Then, “There you are!” Jimin took a step away from Yoongi, cheeks heating over so suddenly as he looked over to see Taehyung and Jungkook, whose chests were heaving in a rush. “We have been looking everywhere for you!” 

Jimin looked down and blinked. What was he doing? _Jesus_ , what was he _doing_? Yoongi stepped back as well, fingers finding pockets once more. And Jimin was looking up again, not even daring to look the man’s way, finding his friends’ eyes in an instant. 

“We gotta book it or your grands will be mad.” Jungkook said, waving Jimin over, who nodded, head still in a slight daze. He looked to Yoongi for only a mere second, feeling like minutes as their eyes met, before he was looking down again, wearing the tightest smile as he walked away. Yoongi nodded in return, a short nod to Jimin’s back, then to his friends, who gathered Jimin down the stoop, before he was looking back out to the moon, a feeling of satisfaction crossing over his heart as he stared out to the midnight sky, fingers gripping the railing in pure gratification.

*

Jimin had woken up that morning with something heavy on his heart, yet something making him feel as though he was floating, throughout his body. And even having not showered, he felt fresh. His bed, sheetless, was warm beneath him, sun splayed throughout his room in patches of heat. His room was small, exceptionally small. A twin sized bed took up most of it and the only other thing was his dresser, which only contained two drawers. One for shirts and slacks, and one for socks and any undergarments he owned. 

He stretched and pulled the sheet from his body, feet slipping past the edge and pressing firmly into the wooden flooring. Sometimes, in the flooring, if he looked through the cracks hard enough, he could see the piping, rusted and old, giving him something to occupy his mind over when nights got too awful for him to bear. He stared at it for a second, before he was pulling his legs through a pair of black slacks and tucking his white undershirt into them. He could hear the clinking of pots and pans being rummaged through from outside his room, where the kitchen was and wondered who it had been, until he heard the sound of their refrigerator being opened. It was a rare occasion that his grandmother ever cooked breakfast for everyone, being she usually took the supplies from the store, which was a vacant area most of the time. Jimin held the door handle for a moment. He thought, pondered, on what it was that would make his grandmother cook them all breakfast, deciding it would be best not to walk out without knowing the news. It wasn’t her birthday, he knew that for a fact and it wasn’t his Pops’s. Something didn’t settle correctly. He opened the door, meeting with the hallway. He could hear the chattering of familiar voices, mingled together, drawing Jimin to a confused state. 

“Oh, sweetie, you’re up!” is what should have been the first thing Jimin noticed, but it was, instead, Yoongi sitting at his dining room table. 

Jimin froze up, mouth gaping for a moment at the sight of Yoongi in his home. He was embarrassed for a passing second as to just how small his home was, definitely so much smaller comparing sizes to Yoongi’s. 

“Mr. Min came to stop by because he has a job offer for you.” Pops entered the room, holding last year’s newspaper underneath his arm. 

They didn’t have the money to be wasting it on things like the daily paper, although his Pops enjoyed reading it. He had decided to keep last year’s and pretend it was something new he had learned everyday. Jimin hummed at the thought and cautiously took a seat. He was about to ask as to how Yoongi found his home, but only remembered it was above the store, so decided against it. He heard his grandmother crack an egg from behind him. He didn’t turn around, just kept his eyes fixed to the table, avoiding the stare Yoongi was giving him, drawing small patterns into the wood with his fingertips. 

His grandfather took a seat, as well, filling the space between him and Yoongi. “Good thing.” his Pops began, slapping the paper hard in the air to read it. “Jimin ought to start doing things on his own. He’s a grown boy now. Can’t be stuck here all his damn life.”

Yoongi chuckled, crossing his leg over the other and leaning his elbow against the table. Jimin peered up through lashes, not joining in on the laughter. He didn’t see what was funny. 

Yoongi cleared his throat, however, and gave only a glance to Jimin, finding his eyes and looking away to talk to his grandad. “Well, I was hoping it’d be okay for me to drive him to see where it is he’d be working?” he asked and his grandmother appeared from behind Jimin, setting a plate in front of him with a soft thud. He looked down at the runny eggs and lightly buttered bread his grandparents liked to call toast, although they didn’t own a toaster. 

“Sounds wonderful, right dear?” Jimin looked up to his Gram, then to his Pops in question, avoiding the daring stare that Yoongi was supplying. 

Pops looked up from his paper, eyes peering from behind it, before he began reading again. Usually when Pops didn’t answer, it meant he was indifferent. So Jimin rather ate the breakfast his Gram had so gracefully cooked and got up from the table, feeling Yoongi’s eyes boring into his back as he did so. 

“Goodness, dear, I hate when you ignore.” Gram huffed, earning a grunt and then another slap of the newspaper. Jimin washed off his plate and dried it with a dirtied cloth, kissed his grandmother’s cheek, and followed Yoongi outside, where they climbed down the steps and joined each other again at his car. 

He listened as the engine roared and the overbearing sound of Cliff Edwards seeming to blare from the speaker. Jimin looked out the window as Yoongi backed out of the empty lot, flicking through the stations, only to find static as he did so.

*

Jimin had been taken aback by the place. It seemed to mimic Yoongi’s home, gargantuan and beautiful, chandeliers dripping with jewels above them. Everything was red, a deep, crimson, velvet red, so romantic and prepossessing, making Jimin gawk in awe. The floor was a marble white, shining beneath every step he took, reflecting his face every time he looked down. He was almost afraid he’d destroy the charm the building possessed with his presence. He felt awfully privileged to have even stepped foot in the place.

It hadn’t taken long for Jimin to realize he was most definitely not the only male to be working here, either. In fact, he only added onto the rest. And although it wasn’t odd for women to not be working in such places, something about the men that worked here gave Jimin an unsettling feeling that he couldn’t quite place. Not everything added up. He couldn’t question anything, however, being the ten dollars an hour was holding him back, not giving him any time to rethink his choices about agreeing to take the job. He found it to be far too good an offer to let go of. Jesus, _ten dollars an hour?_ He was sure to be a millionaire in no time. 

The feeling of Yoongi’s hand pressing onto his back is what made him look up to see a man, a tall man with parted black hair, shining beneath the dim light, slick and styled. The man’s lips were pursed, pink and glossy looking as he stared down at Jimin, cloth cleaning at the inside of a glass, arms thin, yet muscled beneath his white button up. 

“This is Jimin, the one I was telling you about.” Yoongi spoke up, fingers pressing further into Jimin’s undershirt. He squirmed only slightly and watched the man’s eyes trail Jimin’s body over, teeth finding his bottom lip as if to think. He sectioned his staring from Jimin’s calves, to his thighs, to the way his waist dipped against his hips, making him only the slightest uncomfortable. “A _waiter_ , Seungcheol.” Yoongi pressed and Jimin looked up at him with furrowed brows. “ _Only_ a waiter.” 

Yoongi’s words seemed clipped as he spoke and he watched as Seungcheol leaned against the counter behind him and nodded, eyes not daring to leave Jimin’s body. He wanted to tell Yoongi otherwise, how _perfect_ Jimin would be working as much more than a waiter, but decided not to push it, knowing Yoongi meant what he said as he used his real name, rather than what everyone, except Jeonghan, called him, nodding again to finally meet eyes with Yoongi. “He can start tomorrow.” the man said, setting the glass down. Something excited bubbled in Jimin’s lower abdomen at the man’s words and he couldn’t help but smile as he craned his neck to look at Yoongi, who looked back, lips twitching only a bit. His grip tightened a little more, before it loosened completely, letting go of his shoulder and allowing his arm to slump at his side. 

“You can go back to the car.” Yoongi said, blatantly speaking to Jimin, yet eyeing Seungcheol as the younger of the two hesitantly nodded. “I’ve gotta talk to Coups here about a few things.”

Jimin nodded again, more confident in his actions this time, yet cautiously walked out, finding the eyes of a few waiters darting his way, staring at the fresh meat that had waltz into their special domain. Yoongi blew his cheeks out, finding the metal container that he kept inside the front pocket of his tweed and pulled out two cigarettes, earning a shake of the head from Seungcheol. 

“Trying to stop.” he began and only spoke again when Yoongi gave him an odd look. “Jeonghan hates the smell.” 

He nodded and placed the one between his lips, before lighting it. He exhaled through his nose and furrowed his brows. “Jimin cannot become any part of this shit show, you got it?” Yoongi said sternly, placing the fag between his main finger and thumb, pointing it towards Seungcheol. “He isn’t a part of this crowd, he’s never gonna be a part of this crowd, and he _shouldn’t_ be a part of this crowd. A waiter. That’s it.”

“Suga, I know, okay?” Seungcheol said in defense. He crossed his arms over is chest and let his eyes wander to the cigarette that Yoongi was placing back between his plump lips. “I’ll let him choose his own path, I’m not gonna force the poor boy into anything he doesn’t wanna do.”

Yoongi nods, glancing around a bit, before he was inhaling again, pushing a hand into the front pocket of his slacks. He was biting anxiously at his lip. “And, you know, don’t make what this place is too obvious for him. I wanna ease him in slowly.” Yoongi still wasn’t looking at Seungcheol. There was a state of nervousness itching at his throat, clawing at the back of his head, making him feel twitchy. Cheol hums and uncrosses his arms at the sight of Jeonghan serving a regular, pursing his lips to one side, before he looks back to Yoongi in curiousness. 

“Why him?” he asks, leaning further against the counter. “Why’re you bringing that poor boy into this mess?” Yoongi glances his way and takes another puff. Seungcheol could basically smell the anxiety dripping from every action he made, every puff he took of his cigarette, every nervous tick he had against the pocket of his slacks. They made eye contact for a moment before Yoongi was looking down to his shoes. 

“Same reason you brought Jeonghan into your mess.”

And Seungcheol understood, giving Yoongi a pat on the shoulder and sending him out to meet with Jimin again, where he flicked his fag into the air and let the ashes fall with it, gathering wind and crushing into the pavement as it did so, where he pressed the heel of his shoe into it, and opened his door.

He could feel guilt punching him in the gut at Seungcheol’s words. But there was something about Jimin that didn’t stop him from dragging him further into the disaster Yoongi’s life was.

*

“Ten dollars an hour?!” 

Jimin could feel himself smiling with a sense of pride, something carrying him up into cloud nine, serving him to the sun in pure euphoria. He couldn’t believe it, either, if he was being honest, but he couldn’t get rid of the feeling of this gratification that was shooting him to the sky. Ten dollars an hour could _seriously_ help his family. He just nodded with a face splitting grin, cheeks wide and pink beneath the sun. He popped the case of milk up to keep it from falling out of his grip, glass bottles clinking together in discord. 

“I dunno, Chim.” Tae said, looking over to Namjoon, whose brows knitted together in thought. “This whole thing seems kinda fishy, don’t you think?” 

Jimin bit at the inside of his cheek as if to think, lips pursed to one side of his face, eyebrows furrowing and eyes casted to the pavement. He was about to comment, but Tae was crossing his arms, a worrisome look upon his face. “That’s _a lot_ of money to just be giving away, Jimin and you only just met the man.” Jimin was looking at him, eyes crossing between Namjoon, Jungkook, then back to Taehyung, who wore the same familiar face. He looked back down to the case of milk sat between his fingertips, which were white at the tips. 

His head only rose again at Namjoon scoffing. “Jimin’s just got good luck. Be proud of the boy.” he replied, patting at Jimin’s shoulder. “This could be really good for him.”

That set an easy smile to his face, lazy, yet sincere at Namjoon’s words. Jungkook smiled with him and nodded. Their eyes stayed bright and Jimin watched as Taehyung blew air out of his cheeks, such a rough action that it had brought Jimin back to some sort of awful reality. He could have been making a mistake, being pulled into a job, not even knowing as to why he was the one being chosen for such a pay. 

“Are you happy about it?” Taehyung asked and Jimin looked at him, a shy smile finding its way across his lips. 

“I’m _paralyzed_ with happiness.” he replied and popped the stack again, resting it on his knee for a moment to get it comfortably in his grasp.

Taehyung looked as though he were thinking for a few passing seconds, eyes shining against the sun, golden brown, like chestnut mixed with drops of honey, beautifully displayed as Jimin stared on. “Then I’m proud, bud.” he said with a soft smile, patting Jimin as well. 

Jimin gave a grin, an embarrassed grin as his three friends joined in a hug, wrapping aggressive arms around his tiny frame and squeezing roughly. He laughed, popping the milk cartons one last time, before he backed away from their tight grasps. 

“Jimin, I don’t got all day for you to be mucking about!” he heard his Pops yell from the backdoor. “Get back in here and do your job!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Jimin said with slight annoyance, yet he looked back to his friends with a smile, a short sincere smile filled with this gratified expression, before he was backing away and running off to the backdoor, where he disappeared inside. 

*

Seungkwan sat at the edge of the bed, dipping beneath his weight, where he pulled a white undershirt over his head and let it slip through, slacks pulled on afterwards. He heard a soft thud against the bed from behind him and twisted his neck to look down, finding a stack of money, a familiar image he’d gotten so used to seeing, green against red in an aggressive contrast. He picked it up and counted, a satisfying thirty dollars in between his fingers, a beautiful weight against them, a beautiful texture against his graceful touch. 

When he heard the sound of a zipper, he looked up, glancing at the unknown face of the man before him, who was offering a tucked smile, stuffing his shirt into his trousers, buttoning what was left of his apparel. Seungkwan awkwardly smiled back, turning around again to fix his hair back to its original state. He opened the pouch he kept on the underside of his pillow and placed the wadded up money into it, packing it further than it was already packed. The curtain opened and he waited for the man to leave, waited for his footsteps to disintegrate into the distance, but was rather met with the one dreaded voice he didn’t want to find so familiar. 

“Get out.” he heard the voice say and he squeezed his eyes shut in a sudden frustration, zipping his pouch up and putting it back underneath his pillow. 

He looked up when the curtain slid shut again. “You can’t keep showing up here, Hansol.” Seungkwan whispered, only getting up to find his jacket, feeling so abruptly vulnerable beneath the boy’s gaze, hair slicked at one side, parted so that the other half fell just above his brow. 

Hansol frowned at the eyes, only slightly, lips parted to take a breath. “You don’t need to be here, Seungkwan.” he said softly. “I tell you this everyday.”

“I know, Han, and everyday I tell you to leave. You just don’t get it- _and stop calling me that_.”

“What, by your name?” 

Hansol took a stride forward, steps clicking against the marble beneath them. His hat was pressed to his chest, where a clean shirt lay upon him, braces slipped over his shoulders and connecting at the back of his pants, snapped together at the hem, beneath a dark blazer. Seungkwan sighed when he looked up at the boy, eyes so golden, stare so loving. He couldn’t bare to look at those eyes, or he may fall into them.

“You know what my name is here.” Seungkwan whispered. “You can’t be calling me that. You’re putting yourself in a dangerous situation.”

Hansol feels himself dropping his hat, letting it thud with the floor, where he steps over it, smile so softly finding his lips, eyes hooded over as he stared on. Seungkwan’s stomach twisted up in a sickening way, stirring around so familiarly, the feeling of something he needed to get away from. He couldn’t let this man get underneath his skin, but it was so much easier giving in, allowing Hansol to wrap him up and kiss him and whisper how much he loved him. It was so much fucking easier. Seungkwan closed his eyes when he felt Hansol’s fingertips touch his cheeks, grazing over them, almost like a whisper in the silence. 

“We can run away, Seungkwan. You and I.” Hansol muttered, thumb pressing against the dip his lips provided, so soft, almost like he were feeling the finest of silks. And Seungkwan subconsciously leaned into the touch, eyes closing on their own accord. 

“My name is Boo.” he only muttered back and he could practically feel Hansol shaking his head, a chuckle emitting from deep inside his throat. 

“Not to me.” he whispered back. “Not ever again if you come with me.”

Seungkwan’s eyes squeezed tight for a second, before he was pulling away from Hansol’s affectionate touch, his fond, the tender love he was supplying, causing his heart to tighten in the worst way. “Just get out.” he said softly and when Hansol took a step forward, a sadness weighing his steps down, the curtain opened again.

“The boy said to get out.” 

Seungkwan looked up, Hansol following his actions, to see Mingyu standing in the passageway, suit hugging his body so nicely. Seungkwan stared on sadly.

Hansol didn’t say anything, only glanced at the boy that had caused him far more depressing memories than the good ones, and walked away, stepping over his hat and pushing past Mingyu, feeling Seungkwan’s stare burn into his neck, trailing up to the back of his head. Seungkwan didn’t say anything, he never does. 

Mingyu sat on his bed, letting it dip, springs fighting against the pressure, yelling at it. Mingyu ignored the sound and patted next to him. He didn’t need to say anything, this was routine for Seungkwan, a nightmare that never seemed to end, something so horrifying, yet so addicting. He sat down and the springs fought again. 

“You okay?” Mingyu asked and Seungkwan nodded, sighing. He rested his elbows on his knees and pressed his forehead into his hands, rubbing them down his face, easing the stress that was taking over his body, controlling every movement he made. Mingyu rubbed at his back. “You can tell Coups to kick him out. You go through this everyday. He’s got the power to ban him for good, _you know this_.”

Seungkwan rubbed at his eyes. They felt sore and his skin felt used, so dirty and awful and vulnerable and exposed. He squeezed the jacket tighter around his body and chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t be silly, Mingyu.” he muttered, eyes casted to the floor, trailing over Hansol’s hat, trailing over the fabric that it was sewn with, the colour matching that of Hansol’s eyes, brown and crisp and new. Like the sand at night or the way the sun looks in the morning. 

Mingyu sighed because he knew. He knew why Seungkwan refused Hansol’s banning, he had always known. Hansol was playing a dangerous game and Seungkwan never wanted it to end. He was addicted to it, he craved it. It was something he’d never let himself admit. Not even to Mingyu. 

“How about you get some rest, Boo. Go be Seungkwan for a little while, get your mind off of things.” and the boy nodded, staring off for a moment, before he decided to get up, finding his shoes in moments and slipping them on. He grabbed Hansol’s hat and Mingyu followed him out and Seungkwan could hear the zip his curtain made against the bar it was hung from. He walked to the front, seeing Seungcheol cleaning off another cup, eyes watching Jeonghan in a desperation, awaiting the moment his shift had ended. And he watched Jeonghan meet Seungcheol’s eyes with a newfound sparkle that Seungkwan had seen only two other times, both coming from Seungcheol, and the other coming from a broken boy he couldn’t keep his mind off of. He turned away, seeing that boy meet his own eyes and slip past the front door with hunched shoulders.

“You’re a sad soul, Seungkwan.” Seungcheol announced. “You need to start doing the right thing for yourself.”

Seungkwan didn’t say anything, however. Just nodded with his head casted downward, fingers rubbing into the fabric that Hansol’s hat provided, eyes dead and tired. Seungcheol slapped a drink down onto the table and Seungkwan looked up with a small smile at the sight before him. 

“You’ll be needing this, I presume.” Seungcheol said and Seungkwan nodded again, before he downed it in one go.

*

Yoongi flipped his collar down, pulling the bow tie tightly underneath it, fixing it as Rose wrapped herself around him, looking at the both of them in the mirror, smiling in content. He found himself smiling back at her, tucked and eyes dripping with a dead expression as they found each other. Her cheeks were wide, plush, and pink, chubby where they were, beautiful and poise. Her smile was not different, so graceful and pure, intoxicating anyone who took a glance at it. Yoongi shrugged her arms off and looked away, attempting to find his jacket. She twirled herself around, gown sheer and escaping around her ankles, crimson and alluring against her translucent, snowy skin and ebony hair, falling against her shoulders in black waves.

She plopped herself onto the chair of her vanity, large and white and pure, jewels circling every crevice of it. Yoongi could see her face light up through the mirror it held as she applied more red lipstick to her plump lips. “Where are we going off to?” she asks elegantly, leaning forward and edging her pinky at her bottom lip to fix her mistake. 

“ _I’m_ going to town for a while with a few friends, just the boys.” he replies, popping the collar of his jacket, before matting it down and pulling his bow tie tightly one last time. 

Yoongi watches her huff, so visibly, lips pulled into a noticeable pout, so beyond red, it makes his head spin. Her hair twirls with her as Yoongi watches her turn around, like deep waves of the sea, black like the night sky with no stars, only the shining moonlight casting down onto the grass. She rests her arms on the back of her chair and Yoongi notices the saddened expression in her eyes, making him almost feel so guilty, but he rather shoots her a charming smile, gums and all, and she huffs again.

”We never go out anymore. I fear you don’t like me, Mr. Min.” she states, a tone so twee, it could make anyone’s heart glow. He pats at his shoulders and turns around, back facing the mirror he was looking into, and walks towards his wife. His lips form into a kiss onto her forehead when they meet and she hums beneath the action, smile so faintly against her face. 

“Of course I like you, Rosie, dear.” he mutters against her skin and she pulls back to stare at him, neck craned to meet his gaze, face a young plump, flesh so white and pure, a pink undertone finding all the right places against it. 

“But do you _like_ like me?” she just about whispers and Yoongi is laughing, smiling down at her. He kisses her forehead one last time and leans back, giving her neck some relief of the straning. He buttons one button of his jacket and pats it down again as she stares on. 

“We’ll go to dinner Friday,” he says with a faint grin, thrusting both hands into either pockets of his slacks. “Any place you can dream of.”

“ _Any place I can dream of?_ ” she asks as she stands and when he nods, she’s clapping her hands together with glee, wrapping slender arms around his neck, and smiling brightly at him, kissing the heat of his face, smudging the red lipstick there. And he pulls his hands from his pockets to wrap them around her dipped waist instead, cursing himself at how messy he’s caused his life to become. He kisses her forehead one last time and fixes the smeared red through the rearview mirror in his car once he’s gone, rethinking over all the lies he’s told Rose these past years, let alone this past week as he pulls away to head towards the grocery store.

*

When Yoongi had pulled in, the blatant sound of squealing brakes coming to a halt, Jimin’s head whipped up, a sound he’d been searching for for what felt like an eternity, rag between his hands quickly mopping up what was left of the dirt underneath his fingernails. He felt as if it was his birthday or maybe christmas morning. He had even showered for the first time that entire week, hair now a fluffy heap upon his head, rather than the greasy strands he was so used to. 

He heard a honk, then another, followed by two more and was met with a smiling Yoongi through the grocery store window, where his gums showed and his eyes were nothing but slits, swollen lids and swollen cheeks decorated with genuine happiness. Jimin smiled back and waved, wiping at his hands once more and fixing his hat in the glass, reflection prominent against the sun. He threw the rag against the shelf, taking no time to bother and tell his grands that he was off, but rather running through the front door, hearing the familiar and routined bell above it, and allowing his Chuck’s to scrape upon the pavement. Yoongi was smiling again, slipping fingers through his ebony hair, so jet black, it seemed to have its own mirror, so shiny and sheen beneath the natural heat of the day. 

Yoongi leaned forward and opened up the passenger side, allowing Yoongi to hop in, heart just about stopping at the sight of Yoongi’s addicting smile beaming right before him, like a Hollywood film rolling so delicately. The sun was shining in a perfect trance, circling what was left of Yoongi’s head to see, making him glow, making him look so beautiful. Jimin felt embarrassed and he couldn’t place why. And when the two of them had realized they were staring, they both looked away, Yoongi’s fingers gripping harder against the steering wheel, and Jimin could hear it scrunch beneath his harsh touch. He played with the hem of his slacks, focusing on the clips of his braces, rather than the man that had brought back the feelings he was far too scared of. 

Yoongi pulled away, letting the engine roar and echo through the loud streets. 

When he had pulled into the lot, Jimin had noticed the amount of cars that followed, so amazingly packed, it made his head spin. Yoongi shifted in his seat to look at Jimin, eyes sparkling so beautifully beneath the sunlight. Jimin felt himself in them, lost, swimming beneath the sea they provided. He gripped onto the hem of his slacks and wetted the dryness of his lips and never dared to blink. Yoongi sighed out through his nose and turned the engine off. 

“I’ll be here at the end of your shift.” he said softly and Jimin nodded, fingers going to grip the handle of the door. 

He had known through all the minutes he had stared into Yoongi’s eyes that what he was feeling wasn’t right, but he couldn’t find the time to care. Something between them was on fire and he knew Yoongi had to feel it, too. He only gripped harder when Yoongi looked away, smile finding his lips in a shy manner. Jimin looked away, as well, breathing softly against the already warm air. 

He opened the door in silence and hesitantly got out, pressing the door shut with an almost inaudible click, catching Yoongi’s attention for a moment’s passing, before Jimin waved and turned his back, catching the doors with his hand and walking inside.

Seungcheol’s eyes lit up when he saw Jimin, smile wide and gummy, arms unraveling at his presence. “Ah, Jimin, my boy.” he announced gleefully and Jeonghan’s head whipped up, blonde hair short and parted and swaying as his neck turned. He looked the small boy up and down, staring for more than a passing moment, then to Seungcheol, who looked back and winked. Jeonghan looked away, platter in his flat hand almost falling from above it, smile fighting for a place against his cheeks. 

Jimin looked behind him in question at whom it was Seungcheol was winking at, but was soon distracted by the man shoving a uniform into his arms. He stumbled back at the abrupt shove and gave his new boss a look. “There’s a restroom at the back, you can change there.” Seungcheol informed with a smile and Jimin nodded his head, fixing his hat and walking backwards, before he was making a practical jog to where Seungcheol had pointed him off to. 

Jimin met his arrival not long after, finding only _one_ restroom, being the men’s and hummed to himself at the odd placement, being there was no women’s. He was looking around, peeking his head to far distances, catching light from overhead chandeliers and clinking of glasses, champagne bubbling so gorgeously underneath soft, yellow lighting, dim and perfect, setting the right mood. He turned back to the bathroom door and opened it, letting it swing beneath his push. 

He found a stall and locked himself into it, dressing into the apparel of a white button up, black slacks, black braces, and a black bowtie, which had been a familiar set up, seeing the rest of who had worked there dressed so precisely, nicely put together of tucking the button up in and ironing it down straight to the hems. He felt clean and fresh in the clothes, never owning such fine materials, nor never having the privilege of wearing them, letting them grace his body, letting his flesh absorb the wonderful texture. He smiled in contentment and unlocked the stall, pile of his own old, dirtied clothes in his hands. 

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen new workers.” Jimin heard the sound of a voice over the flushing of a toilet. He looked around and found himself staring at a young man exiting a stall with a smile, black hair slicked into a part. Jimin removed his hat and set it onto the folded pile in his palms. The boy began washing his hands. “Sehun.” he said softly and Jimin’s brows rose on their own accord, processing what he had said and smiled with a hum.

“Jimin.” he replied and waited for Sehun to finish washing his hands to shake one of them. Jimin was looking around, drinking in his surroundings and decided that Seungcheol must very much so like marble, for it was covering almost every inch of the bathroom. He looked back to Sehun. 

“I’m presuming you’re working here for the pay.” Sehun stated, rather than asking, knowing exactly what answer he’d receive and when Jimin nodded, Sehun was smiling. “It’s the only place in town that pays this much. I thought it was a scam when I got offered the job, seven years ago.” 

“Seven years?” Jimin smiled and tipped his head a little to let out the smallest of chuckles, lips upturned like a hairpin, creating chubby cheeks and pink flesh. He looked up again and met Sehun’s eyes. “So what brought you here?” Jimin asked in curiousness. 

And Sehun hummed, finally grabbing a paper towel, then a mint from the bowl that sat between two sinks, unwrapping it, and popping it into his mouth. Jimin could hear it clink against his teeth as it sat on his tongue. “I became good friends with Jeonghan, he works here. He introduced me to Coups and then bam, I got the job. Immediately, too. Didn’t even need an interview or anything.”

Jimin hummed in agreement, gathering his clothes down in front of his legs, holding them there, still in their neat pile. “Me, as well. Not even sure what this place is exactly. Is it just a restaurant?”

Sehun’s brows curled in confusion. “Oh, you don’t-you don’t know?” and when Jimin shook his head, a dumbfounded, oblivious look spread over his face, spilling like oil and slicking it up, he understood instantly, nibbling at the inside of his cheek. The face reminded Sehun of himself years before, the day he had earned this job. The face of pure, angelic innocence, and he had almost felt _bad_ for Jimin. There was a reason this place offered so much, there were consequences lead from actions that Jimin hadn’t known of just yet. He decided Jimin would learn the hard way, the same way everyone else did. 

“Yeah it’s just a silly old restaurant.” he began with a tucked grin. He threw his wrapper and paper towels away and Jimin could hear the mint clink with his teeth again. “Rich folk like to come here to eat, it’s why the pay’s so high.”

Jimin nodded and smiled. Sehun pitied that smile, yet he returned one, before exiting. 

Jimin followed and jumped when he was met with a shout, a high pitched shout, then a slap. He could hear Sehun curse underneath his breath, followed by a, “not again,” as he hurriedly rushed to the back, head casted down with every step. Jimin turned the corner and peaked, eyes wide with anticipation as to what he was to expect to see. 

He met with Seungcheol’s figure hovering over a seated man, who cowered beneath him and Jimin felt himself gasping at the Magnum gripped between his tight fingertips, pointer pressing into the trigger, menacing as he stared on. Jeonghan was holding his head, a platter tucked underneath his arm as he stood behind Seungcheol, whose angry expression never faltered. 

Jimin had never seen a gun in person, never in the flesh, and as he stared at Seungcheol, stared at his face, _really_ looked at it, the enraged expression it held, seemingly angry beyond words, Jimin’s stomach twisted again in the worst way. He’d begun to have second thoughts as his eyes enveloped what was being seen. He’d never seen a gun and he’d never seen anyone get shot, and he wanted to keep the second one that way. 

Seungcheol pressed the muzzle against the man’s temple and furrowed his brows, lips upturned in disgust. “Grope him again,” Seungcheol practically snarled. “And I blow your brains out for everyone to see.”

Jeonghan sighed and walked away, head still held against his hand, so delicate and fragile looking as Jimin watched his distressed state walk off. He turned his head back to the scene and saw the man slowly get up, hands held up in defense, before he was walking out, door swinging behind him, catching eyes from everyone else in the room. Seungcheol exhaled and tucked the Magnum back into his pants, where his back was, allowing a click to emit from the friction. Jimin watched on, eyes casting on the way Seungcheol was walking towards Jeonghan and sliding a hand against his cheek, whispering to him, asking if he was alright, kissing his forehead with such delicacy, making Jimin’s head spin in a sudden confusion. 

He blinked and walked back into the bathroom. 

He didn’t need a cliche, but he was in shock. He set his pile of clothes onto the counter and ran the water cold from one of the sinks, cupping his hands underneath it and splashing it against his face, blowing his cheeks out when he looked up to find himself in the mirror. His face screamed distress. He grabbed a paper towel and wiped it down, grabbing his clothes again, before walking back out, meeting people chattering once more, just as before, as if this were a normal occurrence. 

He pondered for a moment whether he should tell Seungcheol this job just wasn’t for him, or not, but the sight of a familiar man caught his eye, instead. Yoongi, someone he needed to see at the moment, someone he _really_ needed to see, so desperately craving his presence as he stormed to him, pulling him by the arm, dragging him away from Seungcheol, who he’d been talking to. Yoongi made a throaty noise as Jimin yanked him away, bringing him to a far corner and poking the man’s chest. 

“What in the _hell_ is this place?” Jimin asked through clenched teeth, words hissing with every syllable spoken. And Yoongi sighed out, nodding as if he’d just been defeated. But Jimin only jabbed him again, finger pressing harshly into the fabric of his suit, nice and ironed against his body. “What did you bring me into?” 

Yoongi blinked for a moment and nodded again. He was rubbing the palms of his hands against his face, dragging them down in a nervous fashion. “Jimin, you were the one that agreed to keep a secret. I made that very clear, did I not?”

And Jimin scoffed at the response, looking around for a moment in pure disbelief, before meeting Yoongi's eyes once more. “And what _secret_ am I exactly keeping?” 

Yoongi found himself sighing again, eyes closing for what felt like minutes, hands twitching at his sides as his head casted down. Jimin stared on, waiting patiently for the reply, the golden reply, pupils blown out to an angry size as he did so, as Yoongi kept his expression blank, remaining unknown, void of emotions. He opened his eyes again and glanced up, head still drawn to the ground, hair falling in his face, which became an aggressive contrast of ebony on snow. Jimin continued to wait.

“This is a club, Jimin, i-it’s,” he paused to look around again, searching for the correct words, the appropriate words, ones that would make sense without having to be too blunt about things. He was only sighing out again as he stood straighter. “it's a club where the shamed can feel unashamed.” he finally said and Jimin's brows furrowed, mind repeating the sentence like a broken record, spinning and spinning, repeating and repeating, spurting out the same words mixed with the same syllables. 

_Where the shamed can feel unashamed_

Jimin looked down, stared at the marble, thought about the crimson that surrounded, thought about the colour green and the way he'd swim in it if he just kept his mouth shut. If he had remained ignorant. He was looking up again when Yoongi was shifting uncomfortably where he stood. 

“And you come here?” he asked quietly and when Yoongi nodded, a sad expression screening over his face, Jimin understood. He was just like him. Such a beautiful mess, a beautiful fool. 

He was nodding again, clothes still held tightly beneath his heavy grasp. He was biting at the inside of his cheek and Yoongi began to grow impatient with every passing second that the silence was filled with background chatter and laughter and clinking of silverware against plates. Yoongi's eyes grew desperate, so unbelievably desperate, and Jimin still couldn't know-could he? 

Jimin looked up when Yoongi pulled the metal container from his front pocket and lit up a cigarette, puffing aggressively from it. He'd soon realized Yoongi had a horrible nervous habit of smoking in situations he had no control over, situations that fell out of hand for him. Jimin sighed. 

“Is there any reason you chose me, Yoongi? I'm not dumb, surely you know that.” there was a hot moment of silence where they were able to hear everything. Every passing conversation at every passing table. Every individual note of the music that was playing softly overhead. They could feel every gaze Seungcheol made their way, knowing Yoongi had to talk, knowing Jimin was confused, knowing it was most definitely going to come sooner or later. The man just didn't know it was going to be this soon. 

Yoongi avoided Jimin's gaze and when he only found himself nodding, Jimin was nodding with him, an expression so dulled and mono, it brought Yoongi's head to spin in an anxious mess, because Jimin was understanding so soon, comprehending things far too quickly, yet Yoongi knew he should. He took a puff of his cigarette and the smoke clouded him, clouded his mind. He wanted it to take him away. 

“You should have told me.” Jimin said quietly. “I still would have taken the job. I still would have been okay around you.” Yoongi nodded and took another puff from his cigarette. Jimin could see his hand shaking, the both of them, fingers twitching with apprehension. He could only imagine what his heart sounded like, what it felt like, what it caused him to feel. He could only imagine how hot his body was, burning at the touch, crisp with nervousness. 

Yoongi used his fingers to comb through his hair, black a good contrast against the red, the crimson velvet of the wall behind him. He looked royal, beautiful. Jimin almost felt guilty for thinking that. But he was somewhere else. Here, things aren’t real. Here, things are the escape somebody so desperately needs. _He_ so desperately needs. He sets his clothes down and grabs Yoongi’s hand, holding it in his, feeling it quiver from beneath his gentle touch. Yoongi looked up, surprised and when Jimin nodded and smiled, the man knew. He knew exactly what Jimin had meant. They were the same.

*

_Seungcheol had always been wealthy, grown up in a home where the word privilege was thick on everyone’s vocabulary when speaking amongst his family. His father owned a cigar shop, which had been more of a side business, on the corner of their street, giving Seungcheol a place to begin his first job at twelve years old. He’d never known what it was that brought in the mounds of cash his father provided up until his seventeenth birthday. August 8th, 1910: Seungcheol’s first encounter with his father’s true identity._

_He’d never seen a naked woman in all his life up until that day, and when he witnessed his father backhanding one of his girls, he vowed to never be a business owner such as him._

_When Seungcheol turned twenty, his father passed away, much to his dismay, and the building was passed down to him. And the day he'd reopened the secret club, everyone knew what it was, what it_ truly _was. He'd been left alone, the name Choi thick in the air that he surrounded himself in, the name that wasn't to be so messed with._

_Seungcheol remembered the first three boys he had hired as waiters, young and ripe, fresh from the tree. Luhan, fifteen years old, dough eyes like that of a deer, had arrived in heat of the summer, beads of sweat spraying his forehead, skin golden beneath the warmth. He was hired that morning, delightfully so, and Seungcheol made it clear as to what Luhan had gotten himself into. He was fifteen, the man had almost felt guilty. But business was business._

_After Sehun was hired at the age of 16, it was December already, and snow had begun to fall. Seungcheol gave the job away quickly, within moments of Sehun’s presence. The both of them were gratefully so in two opposing ways. And Sehun could remember the day Baekhyun,_ Cinnamon, _got a job. Hearts had hammered far beyond the sky’s wild imagination._

_There were nights when moments had become tough, Seungcheol had so little of callboys to work with, turning his secret club into merely a restaurant and nothing more, disappointing him to great beliefs. Even as a boy, short hair so blonde and wavy, matted horribly to his scalp, had walked through his doors, greeting his presence with whipped cheeks and pale skin, frosted beyond soon repair. He’d not seen a smile, yet, plastered to the boy’s face, but that didn’t take away the beauty he withheld._

_“Jeonghan.” the boy announced, voice so pretty, voice so pure. “You can call me-”_

_“Jeonghan.”_

_Seungcheol’s voice had been so stern. “I’ll call you Jeonghan and so will everyone else.” he threw a washcloth towards the boy with a smile. “You can start today by washing down these tables.”_

_He knew what the boy had come in for,_ better pay. _But the man couldn’t bring himself to let him. To allow his body to be touched,_ manhandled _by slimy men older than the skies could see._

_It hadn’t taken long for Seungcheol to figure out Jeonghan had no home, finding the boy curled up on benches, the only blanket being snow. And it didn’t take much longer after that for Jeonghan to swim in the luxuries Seungcheol allowed him. They had shared a room, a bedroom Seungcheol spent on usual lonely nights, now taking up the time to cuddle close to the blonde and whispering kisses into his neck, hidden away._

_Calling what they had_ love _would be an understatement._

*

Yoongi pulled into the parking lot, crickets nearby taking up the silence him and Jimin had provided. Jimin found pale fingers, pale flesh, raveling around the steering wheel, crinkling beneath his hold. They were shaking. _Nervous_. Jimin looked ahead, lights from the grocery store, all the way up to his own room were out, dark, the abyss nothing but ebony as he stared on. He could hear far off music in the distance somewhere, laughter roaring above it. He heard Yoongi breathe out and let go of the steering wheel, hands slapping his thighs. And when Jimin was taking off his hat and patting down his hair, Yoongi’s eyes shifted from the window to his own fingers, eyelashes casted downward.

“We’re the same, you and I.”

Jimin hums and looks over in question, eyebrows raising, pupils intaking the scene before him. Yoongi inhales a sharp breath through his nose and takes out the metal tin in his pocket and Jimin is watching him light a cigarette, placing it between plump lips. 

“I don’t mean to be too blunt a man, Jimin,” he begins with an inhale, a puff, then an exhale, smoke traveling in thick clouds above them, hitting the roof of his car and disappearing into it. He looks over at the boy beside him. “But we both know what we want.”

Jimin looks down, unable to say anything, because, yes, _he does know_. But, there is only silence, nonetheless, where crickets meet with songs and townspeople meet bubbly champagne with laughter and Yoongi meets a fag with his lips, the shuffling sound it provides when the two collide. He only looks over when Yoongi is sighing out, his eyes finding the stars through his windshield. 

“ _God, Jimin_.” Yoongi is saying in what sounds of defeat, voice barely above a whisper. “I have mashed my life up into bits.”

And Yoongi doesn’t have to further on that. He knows what he means, yet the man continues, puffs between words. 

“I’m such a mess, Jimin. You’re still young.” _What am I doing to you?_ he sighs out again, putting out his cigarette in the small ashtray between the two and throws his head back against his seat, closing his eyes. “I-” he stops to press his lips into a thin line, eyebrows relaxing. “I’m sorry.” he finishes quickly and when he’s opening his eyes to look over at Jimin, the boy is leaning in.

The kiss was short, far too short for either of their liking, where Jimin’s hands press against his own seat for support. And when Yoongi pulled away, he was looking at Jimin, at his eyes, _through_ his eyes, pupils so blown, they only left a ring of gold to see. And then he was leaning in again, hands pressing against cheeks and fingers toying with Yoongi’s jacket, spreading the cloth between said digits. And Yoongi was humming, throat sending vibrations, making either heart swell beneath rib cages. 

When they pulled away again, they were unsure of who had done it first, in such a daze that their heads were spinning. They stared on at each other, all other sounds so muted out, hearts not even being acknowledged. Yoongi was the first to initiate a third kiss, a sweet simple one, rather than voicing a goodbye. Jimin got out, taking only one glance behind him, before we was walking up the steps to his home. His back pressed against the wall, one hand gripping aggressively to his hat, the other pressing to his lips in such disbelief. 

*

Jimin stares outside, eyes casted to the town below. His lips are still tingling from the night before, puckered and pink, head in such incredulity. The sun is so golden and above them all, spreading something that has Jimin wondering why the sun rises so quickly, why the moon couldn’t have lasted for light years, for a thousand minutes more. Yoongi’s hands were small flickers of flame with every touch and Jimin can still feel them burn against his clothed skin. He had always thought, _always expected_ his first kiss to be with a girl. He’d never suspected a married man. 

Then Jimin feels something plunge at him and he looks over. 

“ _Hello?_ ” Taehyung says, eyes wide and head ducked. “Were you even listening, you rock head?” 

Jimin opens his mouth, then closes it, looking down at Namjoon’s pillow that was just used as a weapon. He presses a hand into it, then looks back at Tae. “Sorry, just got lost in my own head.” 

He’s thinking about Yoongi again and his lips begin to tingle, stomach doing exactly three flips, before Taehyung is snorting. “Yeah, no kidding.” he says and Namjoon nudges him, a grimace plastered to his face. 

“We just wanted to know how your first day went.” Namjoon intervenes with a calm voice, and Jimin is looking over again, eyes casted to the way his skin glows. He’s breathing out, struggling to think of work rather than a twenty-eight year old man who’s suddenly got ahold of his heart. 

“It was good, uh,” he pauses to shrug, drawing patterns into the pillow sat in front of him. He looks up with a tucked smile, looking on the edge of forced. “It went good.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow and his lips purse to the right side of his cheek, unable to decipher the scene. “Are you alright?” he asks and Jimin is nodding his head, although his body is telling him to get up, telling him to just leave. 

His brain wanders back to Yoongi as he stands to find his jacket and shoes. “I should be heading home, though. It’s getting late. Pops’ll be worried.” 

Namjoon follows him to his bedroom door with furrowed brows and a curt nod to his head. “Alright, I’ll see you around, I guess.” he says in slight defeat. He turns back to the other two when Jimin only nods back and walks out.

They return the same confused look.

*

Jin hauls the final box, grunting as it slips from his grasp and onto the others. He wipes his hands against his slacks and pushes his hair back from underneath his hat. Hoseok twirls the toothpick in his mouth around, letting his tongue graze over it, eyes flickering from beneath his round sunnies, small and squeezing to his face. 

“That’s the last of ‘em,” he says, pushing the glasses back onto his face, leaving little of where his eyes are looking, then sends a smile. “All twenty pounds.”

Seungcheol nods and looks over them, before his eyes meet Jin’s, who smirks only the slightest. Hoseok tucks one hand into the front pocket of his slacks, pushing little of his blazer out of the way, revealing his button up and braces. His other hand reaches out, palm up and fingers pressed together. 

Seungcheol snorts out a laugh and hands him the exact fifteen dollars that was owed, slapping it against his hand. Hoseok snickers, licking his thumb and pointer, counting down the bills and stuffing it into his pocket with satisfaction. He tilts his head towards Jin and raises his brows, however, causing Seungcheol to sigh out and pull another fifteen from his pocket. Jin retrieves it and tips his hat, turning to face Hoseok, who’s now winking. 

“What about that Jimin boy? How’s work been for him?” Hoseok asks, now both hands in either pocket. Seungcheol watches the way his toothpick begins to twirl in his mouth again, tongue sending it every which way. 

He allows himself to tuck his hands into his pockets, as well, blowing his cheeks out, letting air follow. “He’s,” he stops to think of how to word his sentence, before he’s shrugging. “He’s doing really well, Hope, but he’s such a good kid. Sucks to see someone else with so much potential being dragged into this shit.”

Hoseok snorts, however, despite agreeing, and plays with his toothpick some more. He pulls it out and drops it onto the ground, soon replacing it with a cigar, thick between his fingers. “Yeah, but you know _exactly_ why Yoongi’s brought him down with us.” he lights the cigar up from between his lips and puffs on it. “The man’s a mess, Coups. At least you weren’t dumb enough to marry a damn woman.”

Seungcheol is nodding his head when Hoseok is bidding him goodbye, throwing an arm around Jin, and making way back to their loading truck. 

And once he’s inside, the cool stench of beer is travelling to his nose, eyes overlooking the sea of men, before he spots a particular blonde, whose smile is shown through his bleachy teeth and squinting eyes. He’s smiling at a man, scribbling things he’s saying onto a notepad and Cheol’s heart swells at the image. He only looks away to smile some more. 

Then the doors are opening, yet it is drawing little attention from the crowd. Luhan, however, still cleaning, is looking over his shoulder and meeting eyes with a boy, much shorter than he is, eyebrows drawn towards the sky and eyes round, peering at the scene before him with what seemed of nervousness. He looks away, Luhan does, but is only looking back in a sudden amazement, parted black hair and glowing skin pulling Luhan’s vision from his eyes. 

Luhan throws the rag over his shoulder and stands straight. “What can I do you for?” he asks and the boy’s head whips to Luhan’s vicinity with a frightened gaze. It calms, eyebrows relaxing where they are, and a smile replaces his forner frown. 

He goes to open his mouth, before it’s closing, clamping together to make a flat line. Luhan smiles, offering a hand, holding it out with poise laced nowhere in his actions. The boy, cautious with his movements, retrieves it, muscles slacken with the grip, and he smiles back, far more shy than before. 

“I’m Luhan,” he says and the boy hums, pulling away from the handshake and pressing his hand back to his side.

“Do you know where the owner is?” he asks and Luhan chuckles, crossing arms to his chest. The boy stares at the muscle that finds a home there and avoids the man’s gaze with a strained neck, mouth going dry at the image. 

“I’m not sure, but he should find his way any moment.” he says politely, uncrossing his arms and giving the boy some sort of relief to his self restraint. 

He’s looking up again, cheeks a dusty red, and smile so hesitant. “I’m Minseok. People usually call me Bun.”

 _Bun_. Luhan almost wants to choke from distress. He’s only crossing his arms again, frown replacing what smile was left plastered to his lips, which have become thinned out. “Are you looking for a job?” he asks suddenly and Minseok’s lips falter. “Cause, you know, there are plenty of openings to be a waiter or a busboy and-”

“Minseok, I’ve been expecting you.”

Luhan looks up, meeting eyes with Seungcheol, whose glare pierces through, arm thrown over Minseok in a friendly gesture. He sends a knowing glance towards Luhan as if to tell him, _don’t bother_ and nods curtly. “Go bring in the load.” he orders and Luhan’s frown only furthers, yet he obliges, pulling the rag from his shoulder and giving Minseok only a second look, before he’s walking outside.

*

Seungkwan had pondered for so many days, all the days that Hansol had decided to finally listen and not show up, if he had made such a mistake, playing hard to get. Although, playing hard to get would be overstating it. He was _saving_ Hansol. Saving him from being hurt, yet he didn’t want the man to leave. To leave him alone for the rest of his life, never chasing the ones he loved, but rather selling it, instead, for easy cash that made him feel dirty.

His face was imprinted to the backs of his lids every time he closed his eyes and took a breath that felt as though it were his last. It had been exactly six days going Hansol-less, and Seungkwan had begun to wonder whether Hansol was doing it on purpose or not. 

Then his curtain slid open and his head whipped up, finding Mingyu standing there, much to his dismay. He turned to look back down again, fingers gripping the side of his bed. “I miss him.” Seungkwan whispered and Mingyu’s brows shot up in what seemed of disbelief, and he smiled, rather than frowned.

Seungkwan still faced the ground, eyes casting dangerously, lids never faltering to close as they stared. “I miss him and I hate that I miss him, but I do.” now he’s looking up, head turning to find Mingyu’s eyes. Seungkwan frowns. “Why are you smiling?”

“He’s here.” Mingyu whispers out and he backs away, closing the curtain behind him. Seungkwan finds himself jumping up in such disbelief, turning to the mirror in a hurry to fix his hair, patting out down to its original, parted state. The curtain opens again and he sees a broken smile ducking his head to make it through the threshold as he stares at the mirror. The curtain closes again and Seungkwan turns around to meet eyes. He swallows down the saliva in his mouth, where it settled terribly on his tongue, and looks down. 

“I believe you have my hat.” Hansol announces quietly and Seungkwan is looking up again. He sees those eyes, golden like the sun, smoky like the night. He wants to be in those eyes, swim in them, bask in their warmth. He just nods. 

“I do.” is his small reply and he mentally slaps himself for sounding so pathetic. 

Hansol is walking towards him and Seungkwan can hear every dangerous step, every click of his shoes, every shuffle that his slacks are providing. Their feet meet and Seungkwan closes his eyes, feeling the heat that radiates from Hansol’s hand touch his cheek, sliding across it, gliding and fingers separating at his ear. Seungkwan breathes out and his breaths are only a stutter, eyes closed, before they’re opening to find just how close they are. Hansol’s eyes are flickering between Seungkwan’s and his lips, hooded over so gracefully and when they flicker back up for much longer than they had before, Seungkwan is nodding his head. 

The kiss lasted for what seemed to be minutes, where their noses let out large breaths and their hands travelled beyond bodies. And Hansol could feel his heart flying from his chest, swelling until it popped, until it exploded, leaving nothing but a ribcage behind. And Seungkwan felt all the dirt that had settled beneath his skin be washed clean, bringing him to a state of newfound euphoria. 

“I love you.” Hansol was whispering when they pulled apart and Seungkwan looked up at him, eyes beaming in such a way that Hansol had never seen. 

The curtain rips open again and Seungkwan backs away.

“Boo, you’ve got a customer.” Seungcheol says, almost abruptly, and Seungkwan is nodding, looking down again, waiting for Hansol to leave. His head is ducked as he walks out, the last three words leaving a horrible taste on his tongue. 

He made sure not to ask for his hat back.

*

When Friday came, Yoongi had found himself back at the club, sipping from cocktails and leaping his eyes from every corner that Jimin was headed to. It was especially packed today and Yoongi had only pondered on the fact whether or not his and Jimin’s relationship was established. It wasn’t quite. They had only kissed, shared a few odd moments that felt like small eternities, yet Jimin was the only thing at the back of his head, going at a constant fast rate. 

“How are things?” he heard Seungcheol ask from behind him. And Yoongi turned around, meeting the man’s arms sitting over the counter of the bar, tucked smile found on his lips. 

Yoongi shrugged and sat his drink down, sitting at one of the stools and leaning with Cheol. “We, uh, we kissed earlier this week.” he says quietly and Seungcheol’s brows rose, nose letting out a small snort, catching Yoongi’s attention. 

“That was quick, wouldn’t you say?” and Yoongi was shrugging again, turning for only a second to find Jimin taking someone’s order, before turning back around. 

“He’s just,” he pauses as if to think, looking down to his bitten nails. “He’s _something_ , I can’t explain it.”

“He’s the missing piece in your life.” Seungcheol provided and when Yoongi looked up in question, Seungcheol was drawing patterns in the wooden counter, offering another tucked smile. “That’s how I felt when I first saw Jeonghan. I couldn’t let him be one of those _boys_ , he was too precious a person to just give away like that. That’s why I understood, Yoongi, when you came to me with Jimin. I know.”

Yoongi was looking down again, biting at his bottom lip, then licking over to relieve the pain. 

“I, uh,” Seungcheol started up again, almost in embarrassment at his slight confession. “I told Jimin to stay a little while after today to lock up. You oughta stay with him.”

Yoongi’s brows arose, meeting his hairline and Seungcheol offered a wink, making Yoongi only the slightest flustered as he turned to meet Jimin’s figure once again.

Seungcheol leaned back, taking his arms from the counter, and made way towards Jeonghan. Yoongi watched them. Watched as Seungcheol’s hands found his face in seconds, nose gliding across the younger’s in this manner that brought newfound adoration for Yoongi. Jeonghan giggled softly, playfully hitting a small fist against Seungcheol’s chest, before smiling so brightly and accepting his kiss. They were happy. _God_ they were so happy. Yoongi looked away and downed the rest of his cocktail. 

When midnight had rolled around, Yoongi found the delight of an empty restaurant, void of any noise, void of any person, lights a dim yellow above them. Yoongi thought over the scenario in his head, reliving every moment that could lead up to the two of them together, especially when Jimin would glance his way with a small smile tucked to his face, then continue to stack chairs and wash down tables.

After a few long moments, Yoongi had eventually begun helping, giving nervous glimpses, eyes flickering up for seconds, then looking back down before Jimin could return it. 

“We can leave soon.” Jimin eventually whispered and Yoongi almost jumped at the abrupt noise, no matter how quiet it was, looking up to Jimin, wondering why it was that his face had made his knees turn to jelly. 

“Take your time.” Yoongi replies. “We can stay as long as you need.” then licked his lips, blinking for a moment and wondering how they had ended up here. His eyes glance down, looking towards his shoes in a weak moment as he takes a stride forward, heart leaping from his throat as he meets Jimin’s body, feet stopping at the brim of his. The younger looks up, breath finding him in sutters as his eyes meet Yoongi’s. Yoongi’s mouth opens only the slightest, lips plump where they are, breaths following. “We can stay as long as _we_ need.” he adds and then Jimin is slowly leaning forward, mouths only centimeters away, just enough for their breaths to morph. “Kiss me.” Yoongi whispers into it and then Jimin finishes the line with a kiss, a promising one. And Yoongi is kissing back in the same way, hands unknowing of what to do, before they met with Jimin’s cheeks, soft and round and plump, making him remember just how young and _pure_ he was. It caused an unsettling feeling in Yoongi’s stomach that had abruptly been vanished when Jimin began unbuttoning Yoongi’s shirt, sliding hands down his chest, small fingers toying with the fabric of it. 

Yoongi looked at him, lips only slightly slack, letting out hot breaths, hitting Jimin’s face in puffs. He smelled of cigarettes and alcohol, mixed with that familiar cologne that brought Jimin to the first day they had met, to the night of Yoongi’s party. Yoongi blinked when Jimin found himself lost in his own head, before he was kissing him again. 

“I want you.” he mumbled against his lips, coming out in a soft utterance. Yoongi only nodded and undid Jimin’s bowtie, letting it fall to the floor with nothing but an inaudible thud. His fingers were shaking and he was cursing himself for being the nervous one. He had had sex with men before, in this club even. He’d had sex with his wife. He couldn’t find a reason to be so anxious ridden. 

Jimin helped him by undoing most of his own buttons, before he went back to working on Yoongi’s, pulling off his blazer in one swift movement. Hands were slow, delicate and somewhat fragile, shaky where they were. It took minutes for Jimin to be in only his undergarments, before Yoongi was working at the buttons on them, as well, and minutes more after that to find Yoongi in the same situation. Jimin aids him, pulling his underwear down and undoing Yoongi’s buttons in a sudden haze, in such incredulity as to what’s to happen. As to what’s _been_ happening.

And then Yoongi is lifting Jimin up by the thighs, gathering him to a table and Jimin begins uttering something about how he “just cleaned these,” but allowed Yoongi to do it, either way, fingers dancing against his skin with such delicacy. And Jimin is closing his eyes, letting Yoongi pull him in by the ankles and rest them against his shoulders, bringing two fingers to Jimin’s mouth and tapping his lips so suddenly.

Jimin’s eyes opened, awakening his question as he stared on, confused, and Yoongi tapped again. “Open your mouth, I need to prepare you.” he whispered and, much to Jimin’s puzzlement, he let his lips fall slack.

His fingers explore the inside of Jimin’s mouth, wet and warm, tongue gliding over pale digits, thin and long and bony, feeling his knuckles with the muscle, causing something hot to stir in Yoongi’s abdomen. 

As soon as Yoongi’s fingers are slick with Jimin’s saliva, he’s gathering one to the boy’s entrance, watching Jimin’s face for any sign that they should stop, which somewhere in Yoongi’s mind, he knows they should. Yet, he’s pushing one in and he can hear the boy groan, unsure if it’s a good or bad sign, pushing in further until there’s nothing to show but a knuckle, swallowing hard on the saliva that had built up in his dry mouth, and looks back up. Jimin’s face is contorted into something unfamiliar, something unknowing and Yoongi is only swallowing again. 

“Are you okay?” he asks and Jimin nods, licking his lips. Yoongi studies the way his brows furrow, meeting each other in what seems of discomfort. He almost asks if Jimin wants him to stop, but decides otherwise, and continues with his thrusting, gliding against Jimin’s inner walls.

By the time Yoongi finds three fingers spreading Jimin, there’s a sheen coat of sweat thickly layering his forehead and chest, where breaths are met with his heart, causing it to lower and rise. There’s something heavy in the air and when Yoongi asks if he’s sure about this, if he’s ready for something like this, Jimin is nodding his head as if it were the most sure thing he’s ever had the honor of being. And Yoongi is lining himself up, using shaky fingers to do so, cursing himself again as he’s pushing into Jimin with forced ease, swallowing hard, adam’s apple dancing in his throat. 

Jimin scrunches his face again and something springs to his eyes, causing his nose to burn, yet Yoongi continues to push, sliding his way in, using such exertion not to snap his hips with Jimin’s in an abrupt motion. Jimin breathes out in a heavy stream and Yoongi stops to look at him. Jimin doesn’t open his eyes, however, and Yoongi takes the short opportunity he has to admire Jimin’s skin, to admire his lips, or the way his chest heaves so agonizingly slowly. The way his breaths meet the air and escape in sudden huffs. God, he is so beautiful, so ethereal, it almost hurts.

Then, “Why’d you stop?” it was almost a whisper and it makes Yoongi’s head spin. He looks through Jimin’s eyes and blinks, licking his lips in surprise. He clears his throat and pushes in further, letting Jimin swallow everything that he is. 

When Yoongi is pulling out, he’s finding Jimin’s face, finding any sense of falter, anything of such a nature to cause them to end what they’ve already so begun. Yoongi’s heart is in his throat and his fingers are shaking when Jimin’s eyes never open to meet, and he’s pushing back in, letting a groan emit from the back of his throat, so guttural and deep, Yoongi is almost embarrassed to have let it out. Jimin is possibly the tightest Yoongi has ever experienced and there’s something about it that makes him dizzy beyond his own beliefs, head spinning in a daze. He pulls out again, easing his way back in, eventually finding a rhythm that has Jimin’s thighs shaking where they are against Yoongi’s shoulders, eyes squeezing shut, lips tucked beneath teeth, and whines begging to escape his closed off throat. 

Yoongi is staring down, watching sweat slowly begin to bead soft skin, dripping down his chin, meeting with Jimin’s torso, pale and sheen. It’s noticeably hot in this building, yet he’s not sure if it’s the building itself, or the activity they’ve found themselves in. Either way, the whines stringing out of Jimin’s mouth are enough of a distraction and Yoongi knows the boy is already close, and he doesn’t blame him, being his first time and all. 

Yoongi pulls out again, before he’s easing his way in, chasing whoever’s orgasm he can find first in that moment, bringing a hand to Jimin’s member and giving it an experimental squeeze, before he begins pumping it with talented and experienced fingers. Jimin’s body jumps at the contact and Yoongi feels him go stiff beneath the touch, thighs squeezing around his shoulders, toes curling against his back.

“Shit,” Jimin whispers out and he finds his back arching against the, now dirty, table he’s been placed on, eyes squeezing shut, face contorted completely. 

Jimin comes undone much to Yoongi’s surprise, far quicker than he’d expected, and Yoongi pumps him through it, thrusting faster to find his own orgasm. Watching Jimin squirm in oversensitivity, whining and gasping from far too many touches in far too many places. Yoongi unloads inside of Jimin minutes after, groaning at the feeling, before he’s pulling out and stretching his limbs. 

Jimin is slumped on the table, head in a daze at what had just happened, the reality of it all, and he’s thinking too much about it, although it did just happen. He cannot find himself wrapping his mind around it, even as Yoongi leaves and comes back with one of Seungcheol’s washcloths, wiping Jimin down, gathering sweat and cum on the warm towel. 

“You okay?” 

It was Yoongi’s wavering, nervous voice that brought him to a state somewhere other than dreamland and Jimin finds himself nodding, eyes scanning over Yoongi’s face, lips slightly slack at the thought of responding, yet quickly shuts it and nods again. Yoongi is looking nervous once more, before he’s walking away to throw the washcloth into one of the sinks and leaning down to find his own clothes. 

He throws a pile at Jimin with a hesitant smile. “You should probably get dressed.” he says quietly and Jimin replies with another nod.

Yoongi is turning his back, pulling over his underwear and buttoning them up. He can hear the soft utterance of cloth upon cloth and the rustling of fingers gliding through hair, presumably Jimin attempting to fix his own in a lazy manner. And when Yoongi turns around to smile again, a realization suddenly hits him hard in the gut and he feels himself wanting to double over in fear. 

“ _Shit!_ ” he says suddenly and Jimin jumps slightly, blinking at the older man in question. Yoongi covers his face in his hands, sliding them over his eyes and down to his lips, where they slap against his slack covered thighs. “My wife- she’s been waiting for me to take her out- I-I-” he stops to look at Jimin, whose mouth opens, before eyes cast to the ground. 

Yoongi opens his mouth to apologize at the mention of his wife, yet nothing comes out. Because it wasn’t as if it were a secret that he was married. Hell, Yoongi’s ring had been on the entire time they were having sex, however Jimin’s brain continuously chooses to ignore that fact. He feels his heart sink, until he’s nodding again. 

“Let me take you home.” Yoongi says softly and Jimin follows his movements, to the touch of Yoongi’s hand splayed out on his back, to the gentle shove towards the door. Yoongi watches Jimin lock up with a hung head and he feels more guilty about this than what he’s doing to his wife, which feels fucked up in its own sense. They both get into Yoongi’s car and he’s pulling away.

The entire drive was quiet, sound void in the night of the empty street. Even Yoongi’s radio had been turned down, in fear that it may interrupt something they both need. And Yoongi was expecting, _more wanting_ , a kiss goodbye when they arrived at Jimin’s home, but only received a slammed door and the quiet thuds of his footsteps going up his stairs. 

Yoongi didn’t receive anything greater once he arrived at his own home, except for more hanging heads, his wife’s hair gathering around her face in long, black waves, shaping out her saddened expression as she sat at the edge of the bed. Yoongi saw her fingers curled around the silk duvet and he was slowly striding towards her in insecure steps. 

“Rosie, dear,” he begins softly and she doesn’t lift her head, much to his dismay, and he’s only walking closer. “Rosie, dear, I’m so sorry. Work got caught up with me and I just-”

He’s leaning down, in an attempt to comfort her, fingers reaching out for her face, where she pulls away. She studies the undone button of his shirt and the sweat that glazes over his screwed up hairline, before she’s looking down again. “You smell disgusting, Yoongi.” she says harshly and now his eyes are finding the floor as she gets up to escape in the bathroom.

Yoongi had fallen asleep in his clothes before Rose had the chance to come out, so he obviously wasn’t able to find the mascara stanning her cheeks in streams as she stood by the door, watching his slumped figure atop the blankets, their house phone gripped between her palms, hanging at her side, the sound of the police heavy against her ears, time the only distance she feels she cannot wait. 

*

_It hadn’t taken long for Rose to understand, to realize that something wasn’t right. And her car, her eyes, they hadn’t proved otherwise that lonely night she was spending alone over a promise that was broken._

*

Jimin’s eyes wander the tables, cloth in his hand feeling much heavier than any other time he’s held it. His stare is blank, it’s been such a way for what seems of hours, heart hammering every horrible moment he hears the front door open, dreading the thought of Yoongi arriving, having to handle the confrontation. He cleans the table harder, busying himself from this weird guilt that’s begun to weigh on him. 

Jimin had decided to walk to work this morning, waking up an hour earlier than usual. He’s unsure if Yoongi ever showed up at his house to pick him up, though he probably had, yet he’s not arrived here-and why? Jimin doesn't want to think about it, but a part of him is worried, he wonders if Yoongi is avoiding him, too. He almost hopes so.

Then, “How are you feeling?”

He jumps at a voice, heart hammering again, a gasp escaping his throat in a sharp intake as he turns around to meet eyes with Seungcheol who begins to chuckle at Jimin’s sudden fright. “I’m sorry?” Jimin asks and Seungcheol is leaning against a table. 

“Wanted to see how you were doing.” he looks Jimin over, eyes scanning his state, the state of the dead. He meets his eyes again. “It looks like you need a break-do you need a break, Jimin?”

Jimin shakes his head, gripping harder against the cloth in his hand, knuckles turning white at the friction between his palms. There’s a noticeable gulp and Seungcheol sighs, leaning in to whisper. 

“What’s wrong, sport, seriously?” he asks and Jimin’s exhaling, looking down for a passing moment in such defeat at the words being spoken to him. He throws the cloth over his shoulder and shrugs, running a hand through his hair, beneath his hat that he’s lifting to finish the job.

He’s shrugging again when he looks back at Seungcheol. “I don’t know,” he says and then groans, leaning against a table as well. “It’s Yoongi, h-he’s _married_ , Coups, and-and I-” he's stopping to think further, to sink his thoughts to a deeper depth than he can mind. He looks down. “I'm being selfish.”

“ _Human_.” Seungcheol corrects politely, before a hand is clapping Jimin on the shoulder. “You're being human.”

Jimin offers him a look of wonder, a brightness behind his eyes that Seungcheol had yet to see, but finding it now as he stares on. He almost began to realize why Yoongi had such an infatuation with the kid, before he could feel Jeonghan’s ghostly arms snake around his torso and he was back to the reality of it all. He smiles and gives a reassuring squeeze. “Talk to him.” he says, before he's nodding and walking off. 

_Talk to him._

But how?

*

Things always happen in a flurry, especially in Jimin’s life. They happen so quickly, almost like a blur, that Jimin hasn’t even realized what’s happened before it’s far too late to make any sort of decision.

When Yoongi had finally arrived, so clearly upset, a look of hurt dangering his frown, Jimin had thought of hiding away for awhile just to avoid whatever confrontation there may be, but rather found himself planted to the ground and staring at him like he had no other choice but that. He had stared and Yoongi had found him, staring back, blinking slightly. His eyes had only found the ground for moments, such quick moments, before he nodded towards the door and offered a stern look, as if to say Jimin had no choice but to obey.

His stomach twisted nervously at that look and he watched Yoongi escape out the door, finding a cigarette from his coat pocket on the way, and followed when the man had disappeared out of sight. Jimin found himself visibly swallowing, something getting in the way, something drying his mouth, as if he had stuffed an entire package of cotton balls between his cheeks and let them soak up his saliva. His face grew cold when he made it out.

He could see smoke travelling from the side of the building and assumed that’s where Yoongi was, footsteps slow and mannered as they made way to where he was pressed against the wall. Yoongi doesn’t look up from where his eyes are facing the ground and his lips are wrapped around a cigarette, puffing every now and then, before his nimble fingers are retrieving it. 

“You’re avoiding me.” he says softly and Jimin doesn’t say anything, finds that there’s no need to say anything, to interrupt a state of the obvious and rather stands there, almost dumbfounded. Like he wasn’t expecting Yoongi to say it. He watches him take another puff from his cigarette and furrow his brows at the sun. 

“Do you want this to stop?” he asks and he only looks up to find Jimin’s pupils, shaking and nervous, as if they were only in his sockets for him. “Cause if you do, Jimin, I won’t be upset- I just need you to tell me.”

And Jimin, as if on cue, shakes his head, much so that his hair finds his eyes and he’s moving his hand to brush it away, Yoongi striding forward to do it himself, instead, throwing the fag to the ground and allowing his fingertips to stroke against his soft skin so gently, moving the strands from his face. Jimin is looking up at him, gaze so soft, so pure, that it makes Yoongi’s insides feel sick in the most endearing way. He’s never felt more in love than he does right now and he finds it odd, finds it terrible because Jimin is nineteen, fresh from high school, and he’s _ruined_ him, so surprised that the purity is still found somewhere in that sinful look. 

He brushes against his skin again, staring gently and smiles a bit, so small Jimin had barely noticed it was there. “Run away with me, Jimin.” he whispers and Jimin blinks at him, parting his lips in surprise.

“What?” he says in disbelief and Yoongi presses a full hand against his cheek.

Yoongi smiles, his heart somewhere in a rush and Jimin can see his eyes moving back and forth between his own. He presses his lips together at the sight. “Run away with me. We never have to see this town again. We’ll live together without any care in the world. Just you and I.”

And Jimin looks down. “I-I-” he’s shaking his head in what feels to be thought, but he’s unsure, and he can feel lips pressing against the skin between his brows, _Yoongi’s_ lips. His fingers grip against one another and his stomach curls at the feeling, like he’s suddenly lost in it, and wonders for a moment if running away would be what he wanted. What he wanted all along, yet it feels selfish to leave his grandparents with nobody to care or watch over them, over their store, for his own silly romance novel. He’s looking up at Yoongi’s doughy grin, just barely there, but reassuring. He wants to say yes at that smile and for a moment he wonders if he did without realizing and he grows nervous at the thought.

“Please think about it.” he says gently and Jimin nods his head, deciding he didn’t say anything, just as he thought, and allows Yoongi to bring him inside.

The smell of alcohol hits Jimin as if he had never smelt it before and something in his gut had felt different, like the world was off its axis. He’s staring at Yoongi for only moments, watching as the man finds the bar and is looking down again when the doors open and footsteps followed Yoongi’s quickly, cleaning tables once more as he was formerly doing. Seungcheol could hear a slap on the table as Yoongi sat down and looked up to see Hansol’s smile so spread upon his lips.

“What is it, Christmas?” Seungcheol asks and hands Yoongi a drink, the sound of the glass sliding against wood so prominent upon the chatter that surrounds them and Hansol finds himself chuckling at the dull joke.

His hands find his pockets in shy moments and Seungcheol can see the way his cheeks resin with pink, dusting over ever so slightly. Hansol didn’t even need to ask the question and Seungcheol was staring intently, _waiting_ for the blatant words that were ready to find oxygen. He could hear the giddiness leaving Hansol’s lips as he muttered out a small, “Can I see Seungkwan?” causing Seungcheol to find a smile of his own. He tapped the tabletop for a second, a few quick moments, before a nod ensued and he was pushing himself from the counter.

Yoongi sipped on his drink and turned his seat to look at Jimin. Hansol stared, too, wanted to ask if him and Jimin were together, wanted to ask if they were _happy_ together, because he knew Yoongi was much older than himself, had more experience. But he kept his mouth shut and instead turned on his heal and pressed his elbows into the counter.

Things always happen in a flurry, especially in Jimin’s life. They happen so quickly, almost like a blur, that Jimin hasn’t even realized what’s happened before it’s far too late to make any sort of decision. And Jimin is oblivious most days, so oblivious he finds himself surprised when things don’t happen accordingly, at least in his head. And Yoongi hadn’t known he was as oblivious as he was until that day, the both of them combining obliviousness to the cars that had watched them from afar, so plain in sight, somebody across the country could point them out. And the flurriness had happened just moments after.

Jimin hadn’t realized the situation, not even as the doors slammed open upon the walls, or even as he heard a gunshot and the sound of a body falling to the floor. It was Seungkwan who had screamed first and Jimin’s head whipped to the scene, his body flailing against officers who were pulling him away from a man Jimin could recognize, but not put a name to. Things always happen in a flurry for Jimin and when he felt Yoongi’s hand grasp onto his wrist and yank him to the backdoor, he knew something was wrong, something was terribly wrong. 

He watched Seungkwan being hauled off, screams of a man’s name thick on his lips and tears staining his cheeks. Jimin could see blood, so much blood pooling around the man’s body and he felt himself shaking, eyes wide and not tearing away from where he lay limp on the floor, motionless. Lifeless. Like a bird falling to its death from the sky, not there, nowhere to go. No thoughts, just sleep. He could hear Yoongi’s voice somewhere off in the distance, but everything was a blur, like his ears had tunneled out, as if he had no choice but to not listen. His eyes were glued for the remainder of being in the building, until the sun baked his skin and he had no choice but to look away. The grip on his wrist began to hurt and he wanted to tell Yoongi to stop, to let go, but all that came out was, “He was dead.” yet Yoongi’s gaze never found his.

And he could see Jeonghan and he could see Seungcheol far off at another door, boys piling out in order, and he could see the sky, and he could hear the pounding of officer’s feet against the floors, and he could hear his own steps matching up with Yoongi that were caused by such fleeting moments. 

“He was _dead_.” his voice was so quiet, hurting as if he had been screaming for days on end, and he wanted to yank away from Yoongi’s grip, but something in his body made him go as the man, so limp and lifeless. Like he had no control over it. Like Yoongi was his control.

The three words kept repeating over in his head like a mantra, the blood spilling over them in waves, visions of his fingers pressing against the floor of the club like they were meant to be there. He had thought about the first moment he had met Namjoon, had met Jungkook and Taehyung, had broken his leg when he was seven, had gotten his first job at the grocery store, the first time he had earned money properly. He had thought about his first time with Yoongi just the night before, wondered what his wife had thought when he came home too late. He had wondered if his grandparents would ever find out about what he had been doing, had wondered what they would think of him. He had wondered so much that he hadn’t even realized he was in Yoongi’s car and they were halfway down the street.

He could still feel Yoongi’s lips on his forehead, could still smell his cologne, could smell the tobacco escaping his lips as he whispered out his dreams of running away with Jimin, like he needed to say it or something bad may happen. He could feel the twist in his stomach that followed, he could hear his own words, _”He was dead.”_ , whispering somewhere in the back of his mind. He could still hear the gunshot.

His eyes stared blankly out the window and he thought about the grocery store, his friends, thought about telling Yoongi to turn around and bring him back to the life he once knew, to not only turn around the car, but to turn back time and give him what he gave away. To give it back. But he didn’t. He didn’t know where they were going, was unsure of what Yoongi was planning, but he accepted it.

He lay his head against the door of the car and closed his eyes to the sound of sirens.


End file.
